Roll up for the Mystery Tour!
by 023Faust
Summary: Cathy is cast as a passenger on the 'Magical Mystery Tour' in The Beatles latest film and two weeks on a bus with the four Lverpudlian lads is surreal. And on top of this, she soon finds herself swept off her feet by the sweet and lovely George Harrison!
1. Chapter 1

The musty scent of the tour bus reminds me of my school years; those dull trips down the motorway that would seem to last for an eternity. Leaning forward in my allocated seat, I scan my fellow travellers with awkward curiosity and strain to spot a face amongst the crowd that I remotely even recognise. Each passenger here is a complete stranger, and a wave of uneasiness hits me with the heart-sinking realisation that I may have to spend the whole tour sat in uncomfortable solitude. I gaze down despondently at the empty seat beside me. One of the extras _must_ be late; the other extras and actors have a 'travelling partner' to sit and make light chit chat with whilst the bus trundles along its route…everyone except me anyway. The thought of having to sit alone throughout the entire journey is disheartening, and I almost forget that this tour is a once in a life time opportunity; imagine all the girls who would trample their own mothers to be in my position!

"Right," the director stands at the front of the bus and claps his hands together to grasp our attention, "we're just parking up here, and in a few moments, ladies and gents...there will be Beatles aboard!"

There is a chorus of thrilled cries, cheering and frantic clapping as the passengers prepare to meet three of the beloved Fab Four. We aren't exactly sure which of the three Beatles will be climbing aboard…and we aren't entirely sure where the fourth Beatle is. _And now we wait_. I rest my head against the vibrating window, enjoying the warming rays spilling through the glass and the comforting hum of the engine; this is one of the first warm English summers in a long time…and I'm spending it sat on a bus. A screech of childish glee pierces my ear, and turning sulkily in my seat, I see a young girl (perhaps little older than four years) standing unsteadily on the seat behind and pressing her beaming little face against the glass window. Her anxious mother tugs softly on the bottom of the girl's dress and insists she sit down before she 'hurts herself'.

"But look! Beatles!" the child cries hyperactively, and this spurs the rest of the excited extras into forcing themselves against the nearest window, "John, Paul and George!"

"Yes, Nicola," her mother strains a smile as she tries her hardest to control the bundle of energy, "but listen…_Nicola_…listen, please. When The Beatles come on board, I want you to be on your bestest behaviour, understand?"

The little girl nods impatiently, tearing herself free from her mother's gentle grip to continue watching the three musicians strolling up to the bus with an enchanted smile plastered across her ruddy face. As I turn to squint through the sunlight, I can just about make out the hazy figures of three lean men, walking at a lazy pace with their hands stuffed into their pockets. This is when the excitement really kicks in. There is an ecstatic roar of celebration and before I have time to react, Paul McCartney is stood in the aisle of the tour bus. Shifting into the empty seat beside me, I crane my neck to get a better look at 'The Cute One'. Nicola is now jumping up and down, screeching Paul's name, much to her mother's annoyance. It takes me a while to fully register how surreal this is turning out to be…

"Hello, everybody!" Paul addresses us heartily after the roar of approval subsides, and it is soon obvious that he is just as eager as the rest of us to start filming, "Ready to take a magical mystery tour?"

His question is met with a tremendous round of applause. Amongst all the hype and excitement, I notice George and John discreetly creep on board, quietly slinking to the very back of the bus as though wishing to vanish into the excitable crowd. George quickly slides on a pair of huge, black-out sunglasses, and tilts the brim of his hat, casting obscure shadows across his lean face. As he presses on to claim his seat at the back of the bus, I feel his delicate fingers accidently brush past my bare arm and an impulsive shiver ripples through my whole being. I cautiously look up, now covered in goose bumps, expecting…hoping to see George stooping over me to apologise or pulling his trademark smile. Yet he just coldly continues down the aisle after John, oblivious to the moment shared between us, and I cannot help but feel a slight pang of sickly disappointment build within my chest. I've always had a soft spot for George…well actually, it had been Paul who had initially won my heart with his pretty little face and chirpy personality; but as I listened more to The Beatles, the more I learnt about the four lads. I became aware that George was the most beautiful, in a spiritual sense; he was so unique and exquisitely mysterious. When he got married to Pattie…I was devastated. Not that I _hated_ Pattie, I just couldn't bear the thought of George being forever out of my reach and in the adoring arms of another woman; like all the other Beatles fan girls I felt entitled to have _my_ quiet Beatle. I strain in my seat to get another sacred glimpse of Mr Harrison, but can't make out his figure amongst the group of grinning faces that surround me. The frustration is unbearable.

"Right," Paul shouts over the din of thrilled murmuring, "We're gonna be driving down to Cornwall on a coach…and that's about it really. But I've drawn up this script…well we've called it the 'Scrupt' because we're hoping to improvise the majority of the film. So, erm the driver will be passing copies around for you to take a quick look at. So let's just see how it turns out, folks!"

The tour bus erupts into a strange kind of canned laughter, yet one passenger sat ahead of me seems far from impressed. His name is Ivor Cutler; he got cast to play the bizarre Mr Buster Bloodvessel, and I honestly think he's one of the only trained actors aboard. As a copy of the 'Scrupt' reaches his wrinkled hands, he shakes his stern head disapprovingly and makes a 'tutting' noise just loud enough to be noticeable amongst the gleeful chattering. I suppose he's used to more sophisticated jobs. He turns to face me now; his face is creased with deep discontentment, as he furiously waves the sheet of paper in my face. The 'Scrupt' in question was a poorly drawn map of the route the tour bus would be taking, and Ivor exclaimed if he wanted a map, he would have brought along his 'A-Z British Map'.

"They call this a script?" he scoffs haughtily, "How do they expect me to work from _this_?"

"Well…Paul said it's improvised." I shrug reasonably, "I guess it's just supposed to be a bit of fun."

"Hmph!" is the simple, disgruntled answer I am met with, and Ivor petulantly turns back to face the front of the bus.

It was then that I manage to decipher John Lennon's voice amongst the unison of voices and laughter. Looking out down the narrow aisle, I see John and George are sat less than four seats behind and are talking between themselves. My heart burns with unexplainable jealousy; do I envy the passengers sat nearer to the two Beatles…or am I jealous of John being able to sit next George? I strain to listen in to the conversation passing between the two Liverpudlian lads as I continue to shamelessly gawp at them.

"Hey, George," John's voice is taunting and fighting back a mischievous grin, "What do you reckon to the talent?"

"Hmm," the guitarist replies distantly, his head jerking as he surveys the passengers, "most of them are men or women well into their forties…"

"Yeah," John continued to push his band mate for a reply, "but there's also a fine little collection of pretty young lassies. And, I'm sure they'll be tons of gear girls in Cornwall…especially on the beach"

"You seem to be forgetting we're married men, Johnny." George shoots his friend his crooked smile, and I feel lightheaded with giddiness.

"C'mon, Georgie!" John cries out, "That's never stopped us before!"

"I guess not…" George's voice trails off as he continues to scan the tour bus crew, and for a moment his shaded eyes seem to land on me…and stay there for quite a while. I feel a hot flush burning up in my cheeks, and I swiftly avert my eyes from him through my excruciating embarrassment. Not daring to look back to find out whether the Beatle is still staring at me, I shuffle back into the empty window seat and gaze out as the bus begins to jolt back to life. Did he notice I'd been _staring_? Was he annoyed? It's impossible to tell what he's possibly thinking behind that ridiculous costume! I bite my lip as the humiliation continues to sting, and my eyes grow watery with uncomfortable mortification.

"Well Georgie boy," John exhales lazily and shoots a cheeky grin at a girl sat giggling in front of him, "just think of it as a two week holiday from married life."

I look desperately look around, searching for something to distract myself…anything! Behind me, I hear Nicola chattering away to her mother, but before too long I grow tired of listening to her breathless prattling. Ahead of me, Paul has sat himself beside a pretty blonde and is trying to explain the reason he has decided to try film an 'experimental film', whilst Ivor continues to grumble about the 'Scrupt'. I personally see the idea of being a part of an unscripted movie as an adventure; anything could happen.


	2. Chapter 2

"Well, isn't this pleasant!" I hear John exclaim theatrically as the bus jolts along a series of rural roads, "Isn't it lovely, boys and girls?"

Most of the tour bus now seem too tired to respond, yet I hear Ringo chuckling at the front of the bus (he came aboard with an actress playing his aunt a couple of hours ago), and Paul tears his eyes away from the pretty blonde beside him with a tense smile (I can tell that spending two weeks on a bus with John might be a bit challenging). George sits motionless, and for a moment I wonder whether he has craftily fallen asleep behind those huge sunglasses, but a wry smile gradually grows beneath his moustache. John and George have now relocated themselves nearer the front of the tour bus, and much to my delight I can now hold them in my view at all times; much to Paul's distress, this gives the two Beatles an opportunity to tease their bassist for the remainder of the two weeks of filming and I can almost feel McCartney squirming in his seat.

"Erm can I have everyone's attention for a second," the director stands shakily at the front of the moving bus, "we're just a couple of miles away from the hotel we'll be boarding in for tonight…"

"We're not gonna be stuck in the middle of nowhere are we, mister?" John heckles the director, "I don't fancy spending the night in a field; it'll play havoc with my hay fever."

"No, John," the director replies through gritted teeth, "the hotel's in a lovely little village. And there's a local pub with a charming beer garden. I've already warned the villagers in advance about you, Lennon. So don't worry about being mobbed as soon as you set foot off the coach either, you'll have plenty of time to relax before we're back on board tomorrow."

"Great," I hear Paul say to Ringo, "that'll give us a chance to stretch our legs."

"Not that Ringo has much to stretch." George adds with a dry smirk, and the four laugh between themselves like old friends.

With that, the cameras are switched on to film some filler sequences of the boys sitting restlessly as the tour bus draws nearer to our destination. Ringo stages an exaggerated row with his 'auntie', whilst Paul gazes nonchalantly out of his window, a cigarette balanced between his pursed lips. I smile to myself as I notice John pretending to drift off to sleep against George's shoulder, whilst the youngest Beatle tries to shrug off his drowsy band mate away. Although I'm aware this is probably all an act for the cameras, I feel my chest swell at the sheer adorability of the four lads; for the rest of the journey to the hotel the foolish smile remains plastered across my face.

_When we reach the small village and park up outside the local pub, we are allowed to leave the bus for a well-deserved drink before heading to the hotel…_

I sit at a small table in the beer garden with an extra, my age (twenty-three), called Ruby, and watch the four band mates frolicking across the neat lawn with an old football. Ruby sips distractedly at her drink, her hazel eyes locked on John Lennon, and as I speak to her I notice her eyes never quite leave him. Amongst the four lads, a handful of local children shriek, and race up along the garden with grass stains smeared across their ruddy knees; amongst the controlled chaos, I see little Nicola's stripy dress. The cameras are trained on the boys again, and we overhear the cameraman explaining to Ringo that these shots will look great accompanying Blue Jay Way and perhaps even I Am The Walrus.

"So, Cathy" Ruby crosses her slender legs and finally acknowledges me, "How did they cast you? I work for a modelling agency, so the director got in touch after seeing me in Vogue…and the rest is history."

"Oh," I now feel inadequate, and wonder if Ruby purposely brought this up to establish that if anyone was going to have John, it would be her, "erm, I work in a café…and the casting director spotted me when he came in for a cuppa a few months ago."

"Mhm," I can tell Ruby is losing interest again, and she primps her short (more than likely Twiggy inspired) haircut, "I guess this is a welcome change from making cups of tea then?"

"Definitely!" I smile, and Ruby takes another delicate drag from her cigarette.

Examining Ruby's features in the brilliant sunlight, it's now obvious that she works for a modelling agency; her features are incredibly feminine, and this is only emphasised by her hip pixie haircut. She blows snaking wisps of smoke into the air, and continues to watch John as he fools about; for a second the Beatle glances up from his cavorting and, noticing that Ruby's eyes are locked on his every movement, seems to burst forward with newfound energy. John is now tearing along the grass and boisterously tackling any of his band mates who dare to try prize the football from his hands (God only knows what game they were supposed to be playing). Ruby laughs elatedly to herself, well aware that she had made an impression on the Beatle, and waves coquettishly. To my distress, not only does John enthusiastically return the flirtatious wave…but so does George. My face feels numb as I try my hardest to maintain a friendly smile and hide my niggling jealousy, as Ruby turns back to grin at me; she knows she's lucky with both John and George are interested, and this only infuriates me further.

"Erm, Ruby," I desperately try to distract her from John and most importantly George, "I know this might sound a bit daft…but you said you worked for Vogue, right?"

"Yes," Ruby's answer is distant as she cranes her neck to watch John, "why?"

"I was wondering, have you ever met Pattie?" I ask cautiously and for a moment there is an awkward silence, "As in George's wife."

"Oh yes," Ruby replies sharply, and I detect a hint of cattiness in her voice, "_her_. Well I can't say we're the closest of friends. Ever since she bagged herself a Beatle, she seems to be _above_ the rest of us now."

I'm suddenly wrought with concern by this venomous comment and fall into distraught silence, wishing I'd never asked. What if Ruby tries to get with George out of spite? It would be the perfect revenge. I frantically try to reassure myself that the pretty model has eyes for John and John only. I look back across the lawn and notice John is stood whispering in George's ear; every so often he breaks off to look hungrily in Ruby's direction and licks his lips. My stomach flips as George nods in agreement and he too seems to be gazing foolishly at the stunning Ruby. As the two Beatles begin to approach the table, I feel my hot tears of envy prick at my eyes, and I have no choice but to collect my jacket in my trembling arms and storm off back to the coach. As I march along the gravel car park and board the bus, I frantically wipe the bitter tears from my eyes with the backs of my hands. I just pray not to bump into anyone, and I am greeted with a warm flush of utter relief as I find the tour bus is empty. Sniffling, I throw myself into my seat, only to find I am met with a blunt pain; in my fit of jealousy I fail to spot a thick hardback book discarded on my seat. I hold the book in my quivering hands and just about manage to make out the title through blurred eyes.

"_Spirituality and the Origins of Life_" I read the book title aloud, and realising the rest of the group will be spending at least another hour or so enjoying their break, I knuckle down to read it.

An hour passes, and I am already well on my way to reading chapter six; the book is surprisingly engaging and is effective at subsiding the tears and worrying for a while. In fact I'm beginning to forget about the incident in the beer garden altogether, and pin my sadness down to hormonal self-consciousness. As I turn to chapter six, I am reluctantly brought back to reality by the sound of someone loudly clearing their throat.

"So, what do you think of the book?"

Recognising the voice, I glance up to see George Harrison stood over me, his hand resting on the seat behind my head. It is then that icy realisation hits me, and the book feels cold and unfamiliar in my hands. This is _George's_ book, and I'm sat here, with my clammy fingers all over it. I don't know how to react. My voice catches in my throat as I try to speak, but burning embarrassment stops me from explaining myself. George just looks down at me from behind his sunglasses with his lips stretched into a tight line, and it's impossible to tell how irritated he is to find a fan contaminating _his_ property. I wordlessly place the book on the empty seat beside me, and look out of the window, praying the Beatle will just take the book and spare me any _more_ mortification; but he doesn't and it's unbearable. I begin to wonder whether he's purposely making me feel ashamed as a punishment for shamelessly snooping, but I had no idea the book belonged to him!

"Have you been crying?" his voice seems inquisitive, and I notice him leaning to examine my expression.

I try to deny it, but my eyes are still red and sore from the bitter tears, so I simply sniff to confirm his suspicions. I must look so pathetic, crying like a baby when I have the once in a lifetime opportunity to have a conservation with my idol. I hear him sit in the seat beside me, and the only sounds that pass between us are his steady breathing and my lurching sobs. He is leafing through the book casually, and I find this strangely soothing; I cautiously turn to face him and the guitarist breaks into a comforting smile. I'm shocked that he hasn't left me to wallow in self-pity already; I know if I was in his position, I wouldn't waste my time.

"What's wrong?" his voice is steady and rational.

"It's nothing," I reply awkwardly, embarrassed by my reflection in his large glasses (I look a mess, what a way for him to see me), "it's nothing serious… just petty worries. I feel a bit of a fool, really."

"Oh," to my relief, he doesn't try push me any further for an answer, "I thought you looked a bit upset earlier, but I didn't want to harass you."

"Huh?" I sniff and George places the book back into my lap.

"When you and that model were sat in the beer garden," he replies, brushing a stray strand of brown hair from my damp eyes (I flinch slightly, not expecting such forward contact from a celebrity), "you seemed hurt by _something_; I could see it in how you looked pained when you tried to smile. And then I waved but you blanked me…so I thought you obviously didn't want to be pestered."

"But," I frown with growing bemusement, "you were waving at _Ruby_, weren't you? I saw you and John whispering, and you kept looking over at her."

"No," George laughs to himself and shakes his head, "John's put his stamp on her already, and once he's made his mind up there's no compromising! Anyway, she's not really my type."

"Oh," I feel childish for bursting into tears over nothing, "I'm sorry for making you feel bad, Mr Harrison…"

"George." The guitarist firmly corrects me, "And don't worry about it. I just wondered if it was something myself or John might have said because you walked back to the bus when we got near. I was gonna come over and make sure you were ok."

"I've been on board the Magical Mystery Tour for one day," I shake my head in disbelief, "and I've already broken down in tears, and stolen your book."

"No, you're alright," George smiles hearteningly; "don't feel bad. Anyway I've just finished the book on the way down here, and I'm guessing John must have left it over here by accident before we went for a drink."

He removes his sunglasses, and I find him much easier to talk to now we have established eye contact. His dark eyes are even more captivating in person, and there is something about the way they steadily hold me in their gaze that sends my heart fluttering. The tears have finally dried up and the cool summer breeze coming from the open windows cools my burning cheeks. George's eyes dart up to the open doors of the bus as the driver and the first strands of passengers begin to file on board. Very soon John, Paul and Ringo will be back soon, and we'll be on our way to the nearest hotel.

"I'd better get back to my seat," George sighs apologetically as he spies John fast approaching the bus with Ruby, "but you're welcome to borrow the book."

"Thanks." I smile appreciatively and mechanically hug the book close to me.

_That night in my hotel room, I sit cross-legged upon the bed with the book George has leant me. No matter how interesting the book becomes though, my mind is distracted as it replays the conversation I shared with my favourite Beatle on a loop. Looking back on how I reacted in the beer garden, I feel ashamed but glad things happened the way they did because I now have peace of mind; George isn't interested in Ruby and is on speaking terms with me. Perhaps this tour isn't going to be as bad as I expected._


	3. Chapter 3

The morning sunlight spills through the window and illuminates the pages of George's book. Every so often I find my eyes straying from the page beneath my finger tips and locking themselves on the guitarist's dashing profile; he's so distracting, I must have read the same line one hundred times over! I'm aware that George has also kept his eye on me since we boarded the coach and often glances yearningly at me as though he urgently _needs_ to speak with me. I was afraid that George had only spoken to me yesterday out of courtesy or because he had been asked to check up on me by Ruby, but as the bus drones on I could tell he was waiting for an opportunity to shift seats and talk with me. Ruby has managed to seat herself behind George and John, but to my relief she is paying little attention to George and chats incessantly with John; she sits giggling with girlish glee as John loudly impersonates Paul. Ruby is gradually growing easier to like as well, but I _know_ this is due to my growing friendship with George reassuring me that she won't try intervening and winning his heart.

"Hey George!" I hear John protest melodramatically and he jabs his band mate in the ribs, "Stop staring at you lady friend when I'm talking to you!"

"Shut up!" George tries to keep his cool as he elbows John, but beneath the shadows of his hat I spy rose tints spreading across his cheeks. I too feel my cheeks flush and we exchange awkward smiles. I turn the page of my book with trembling fingers trying my _hardest_ to read on, but George remains rooted in the forefront of my mind.

We soon seize our chance to be reunited when the tour bus pulls up in the middle of a military air base; Paul (in a army costume for some reason beyond me), Ringo and half of the tour bus extras trundle off the bus and set off to do some filming. John decides that he and Ruby need to "get some fresh air" and the pair leave the coach entwined in each other's arms. Almost in a flash, I glance up from the open book laid across my knees to see George making himself comfortable beside me. We sit together for the full hour and discuss the contents of the book that brought us together. At first I am wary when sharing my opinions on religion and life, because I know George is renowned for questioning other people's logic and ideology; I'm terrified that'll I stumble up and say something offensive, or that he'll fire endless questions at me that I struggle to answer. I stutter my way through the conversation and George seems to be confused by my nerves, but I eventually ease into discussion and feel enlightened. We are deep in conversation when Paul's eager voice interrupts us and we are forced to tear ourselves away from the engrossing book.

"Everyone off the bus!" Paul shouts in mock horror, "Ringo's taking over!"

"Don't panic, everybody!" the director adds reassuringly, "we just need to ask that all passengers exit the bus. We'll be using it in the big race…with Ringo driving, so health and safety reasons mean we need everyone out of the way."

"Big race?" I ask bemused.

"I thought it would be fun to include a scene of some of the crew racing against the tour bus," Paul replies smiling (the first time we've spoken!), "should be a laugh!"

"You're trusting Ringo with _this_?" George sniggers loudly enough for Ringo to hear as the drummer clambers into the driver's seat, "It won't survive in one piece with _his_ driving."

"Yeah, whatever Georgie!" Ringo retorts good-humouredly and the band mates shake each other's hands firmly, "May the best driver win!"

"You're racing too?" I ask the guitarist as we leave Ringo with the coach.

"Yeah, I've had one of the filming crew follow me in my Mini," George replies and I feel his hand press against the small of my back, as he guides me across the vast air field, "I wouldn't want to miss out on this."

Ahead of us, the passengers are being divided into two by the filming crew and stand around chattering. John walks Ruby over to a gathering of middle aged women (who I'm guessing won't be taking part) and cheekily pecks her on the cheek before proudly strutting over to George's brightly painted Mini. I feel my heart sink as I realise I'll be split up from George again and consider clutching onto his arm in a feeble attempt to keep us together a _tiny_ bit longer; his hand fits the small of my back perfectly, like it was fate that we should be together.

"Anyone who's going to be a part of the big race scene, follow me!" one camera man shouts and the next thing I know, George has gripped hold of my hand and drags me with him.

"Only the drivers who have been given permission can take part!" Paul adds, stressed out, and I 'm certain he must have spotted George trying to sneak me with him.

"What are you _doing_?" I cry out with a combination of fear and the exhilaration caused by the sensation of George's warm hand closed around my own, "I'm not supposed to be part of the race, Paul said…"

"Sod what Paul said!" George grins mischievously and pulls me closer, "You're coming with me! I owe it to you for making you feel crappy yesterday."

"But, I've already told you that wasn't _your_ fault…" I splutter fretfully, but George is holding the door to the backseat of the Mini open, and without really thinking, I scramble inside.

"Hey! How come you got to bring a girl along?" John pouts sulkily in the passenger seat of the small car, "Paul will blow a fuse if he finds out, Georgie boy!"

"Like I care?" George replies hurriedly as he ignites the engine and drives the car up to the starting line.

"Ooh you romantic bastard!" John chuckles and glances back at me, "You're a lucky lady, you know. George here is a true lover boy, but only with a select few! He can be a real Romeo if he likes what he sees."

George purposely ignores this remark as he puts the car in gear, and I feel a biting, nagging concern that perhaps it _is_ only a friendship we share; nothing romantic, after all he's a married man! Ringo pulls up in the tour bus beside us and shouts mock abuse out of his window at George.

"Get that matchbox out of the road!" he heckles from behind the wheel of the impressive tour bus, "Give it up Harrison, you've got no chance!"

"Sorry," John yells back and I wonder how far he'll be able to lean out of the car window before tumbling out into the road, "We can't hear you! Must be that great hooter muffling your voice!"

"That's it, Lennon!" Ringo shouts competitively, "Prepare to be humiliated in front of a camera crew!"

I lean forward in my seat to whisper something encouraging in George's ear, but I'm cut off as the race begins and the Beatle zooms over the start line at a ridiculous speed; the breath is knocked from my lungs and I cling to the leather seat by my finger nails. I try to ease my fears and look out of the window, but the scenery blurring by only makes my stomach flip. My hands shoot up to cover my eyes, and I hear John shouting _something_ at me…but the wind roaring through the open windows drowns him out. The car swerves hazardously around another treacherous bend and my heart almost leaps out of my chest; I envision the car tumbling off the track and bursting into a ball of flames. George and John have now removed their hats and wave them wildly out of their windows to rile up Ringo. From behind my hands, I'm aware of the tour bus thundering past and the drummer shouting something incomprehensible at us. John and George burst in almost hysterical laughter as George recklessly slams the accelerator to the floor; in the rear view mirror I see him grinning as the wind tearing through the open window whips his hair across his face. We hit another bend at incredibly high speeds and I am nearly jolted out of my seat. Frightened beyond belief, I instinctively throw my arms forward to grab the nearest thing possible…which just so happens to be George. My arms wrap around the seat's head rest, as well as George's neck, and it's a wonder I haven't strangled him or caused an accident. As our exhilarated driver speeds on, I feel his elevated pulse against the inside of my arm, as I hang tighter onto his neck. Luckily, we are soon over the finish line, but I feel frozen with fear and unable to release my arms from the Beatle.

"Hello!" John cries teasingly as he notices me still clutching onto George, "I heard that racing gets the blood pumping…but there's no need for that! Save it for the bedroom, young lady."

"Leave her alone, John" George laughs, but there is a hint of protectiveness in his voice, "Did you enjoy that, Cathy?"

"I…I…can't talk right now…" is all I manage to choke out, breathless and dazed.

As George opens the car door for me, I practically crawl out of the Mini with hair like a nest on my head and eyes wide with the adrenaline still coursing through my veins. George takes my trembling hand like a gentleman and soothingly stokes out the deep creases in my dress. He squeezes my hand to grasp my full attention and for a heavenly moment our eyes meet; the cheering, jeering and celebration taking place around us seems to vanish into the background, as we stand in awe of each other. For a second it seems that George is gradually leaning in to me, and I tilt my chin towards him, expecting my lips to be met with a sweet kiss. But the moment passes just as quickly as it arrived, and John heartily slaps the guitarist's back.

"I hate to interrupt," John winks at me, "but Paul wants us in this shot, Georgie."

"Right." George nods his head, but I hear his voice waver with some hidden emotion. Disappointment, maybe? I watch the two Beatles walk across the field to join a gathering of drivers from the race who pose for their victorious photo; George is leaning in to listen intently to John whispering in his ear. Are they talking about _me_?


	4. Chapter 4

**George's P.O.V**

"Well George," John grins at me from across Paul's hotel room, "how's the holiday romance going?"

He sits reading from a local newspaper whilst myself, Paul and Ringo get changed into our psychedelic outfits for the I Am the Walrus music video. I _knew_ it wouldn't be long before John brought the topic of Cathy up on front of the rest of the lads (though I'd hope he'd have let it be). I feel Paul and Ringo's expectant eyes on me as they wait for me to spill the beans; I'm not sure Paul will be too happy about 'holiday romances' on the set of his film. I feel flustered.

"What holiday romance?" I purposely act dumb, hoping to conceal my blushes, "You're the one with the new girlfriend, John."

"Girlfriend, eh?" Paul raises an eyebrow at John jokingly, as he pulls on a fur coat, "I always thought _I_ was the only one for you, Johnny!"

"Get lost," John cackles and hits Paul with the rolled up newspaper, "I'm not a bloody queer!"

"Who's the lucky lady then?" Ringo grins at John, and I let out a quiet sigh of relief now conversation has turned to Ruby.

"She's a model!" John boasts proudly, beaming from ear to ear, "Her name's Ruby."

"So what?" I purposely wind him up, "I live with a model."

"She can't be that great," John retaliates, "if you need to go looking for girlfriends on tour buses."

"_You've_ got a new girlfriend as well, George?" Paul asks sweetly, but I can tell his annoyed, "Who have you wooed now?"

"She's called Cathy," John answers the question for me with a smug smile, "and she's mad for him."

"You don't _know_ that, John." I reply awkwardly as I pull on a patterned shirt, "We're just really good friends."

"Don't be slack, George!" John retorts loudly, "She's crackers for you! You'd only have to give here _the look_ and her knickers would be round her ankles!"

"I like the sound of this Cathy!" Ringo adds wittily and I feel my cheeks blaze crimson, "If things don't work out with you George, can I have her?"

"She's not _that_ kind of girl!" I fight to protect her reputation, "She's really intelligent and spiritual. I feel I can talk to her about things easier…we've got a sort of bond."

"Already?" Paul looks cynical, "It's only the third day into filming and it sounds like you're planning on living with the girl!"

"They've already nearly kissed!" John pipes up again, "I saw them together after the big race…ogling each other like love stuck teenagers."

"We weren't!" my cheeks feel like they're on fire.

"C'mon Georgie boy," John whines, "You don't have to hide it. You'd have to be blind not to notice _something_ is going on between you two."

"Look!" I feel my temper going and I have to stop myself yelling, "Just leave it. We're not in a _romantic_ relationship, ok? Get over it."

"Ok, ok" Paul steps in before things get out of hand, "let's just leave it at that, John. If George wants to have a secret relationship, it's up to him."

I shoot Paul a hurt glance. I know he's trying to play the guilt trip card on me and make me feel bad about going behind Pattie's back, but it's not like that. Well…I'm not sure how to explain it. At first I tried to convince myself that I didn't have feelings for Cathy, and that we were just a chance friendship; I wanted to believe that I had eyes only for my wife and would reserve my kisses for her lips only. But now, I can only think about Cathy's blushing cheeks and the long brunette hair the flies around her pretty face in the wind. I keep reliving the moment we _almost_ shared a kiss and I find myself itching to live out my perfect fantasies of making love to her. Things haven't been going as well as they should between me and Pattie lately, and our marriage seems to have hit a rough patch…so isn't it natural that I should be falling for another girl who will love me unconditionally?

"Right, lads!" John cries as he puts on his walrus mask, "Let's shoot a music video!"

As we arrive on set of the video, I find my eyes wandering around the empty military air base to look for Cathy despite the fact I know she's back at the hotel with the rest of the cast; a part of me hopes that she might have followed us here and is stood watching from behind the cameras. Even as we're filming with our instruments and lip syncing to the song, my find is flooded with Cathy's lovely face and her enchanting voice echoes in my ears. I _can't_ focus on the song, and as we take a short break from filming, it is obvious that Paul has noticed I'm preoccupied.

"Look George," Paul speaks quietly to me over a cup of tea, "I know you've got this thing going on with one of the girls…but could you _please_ concentrate. I can't have your relationships getting in the way of the film."

"I'm not in a relationship, Paul." I reply coolly, trying not to over react, "I'm just a little tired, that's all. Sitting on a tour bus for hours really knocks it out of me."

"Hmmm," Paul looks unconvinced but is prepared to let the subject drop, "well, just try to look alive, ok Georgie?"

_**Back at the hotel, I find myself desperately searching for Cathy…**_

I spot her sat in the empty lobby, still reading the book I leant her and my heart wells up with pure affection. I sneakily creep across the room, still wearing the rabbit mask from the video shoot, and sheepishly tap her on the shoulder. She glances up from the book and lets out a startled cry at the sight of the rabbit looming over her; I don't blame her, these masks are pretty creepy. I grab hold of her wrist as she automatically lifts her hand to hit me in self-defence, but this only makes her shriek louder and I'm worried she'll attract attention.

"Let go of me!" she cries out, and writhes beneath my grip, "Let me go!"

"_Cathy_!" I try calm her down and lift the mask away from my face, "Relax, it's me! It's _George_."

"George!" she cries, but I feel her tensed arm relax against my grip, "You scared me to death! What _is_ that?"

"It's for the I Am the Walrus video," I take the mask off, and discard it on an empty chair (if Paul saw this, he'd have a fit), "sorry for scaring you."

"It's fine, George," she replies smiling, and my heart flutters cheerfully, "I can't stay mad at you anyway."

"Thanks" I smile awkwardly and find myself collecting her in my arms in a warm hug.

She's perfect to hold, the way she gently presses herself into me and delicately drapes her arms around my shoulders. Her long hair hangs all around me and cascades over my arms. I breathe in her sweet scent hungrily and I'm filled with an uncontrollable hunger to take her. We pull away from the tender hug, and she gives me an appreciative smile. I can't fight back my emotions anymore…_I love her_.


	5. Chapter 5

**George's P.O.V**

I can _feel_ my patience slipping away. I got little sleep last night…all I could think of was _my_ Cathy as I feverishly tossed and turned under the blankets of the hotel bed. So I wasn't too pleased when John burst into the room at 6.30am, telling me to get my "scrawny arse outta bed" to film the Blue Jay Way video. I had to leap out from under the blankets and get dressed without even taking a shower, and buttoned my shirt up wrong _four times_. Rushing down the stairs, I just pray that everything will run smoothly and we can get this video over and done with! I've always hated shooting videos and I doubt I'm going to be converted today; like touring, it's just _too_ stressful!

"I haven't even washed myself!" I protest to John, following him through the lounge, "They expect to film a music video with me looking like _this_?"

"That's why God created hair and make-up!" John grins, "Not that_ I_ need it with my natural beauty."

"But…I thought Paul wanted to film the video at night, to make the video spooky!" I'm thinking up any excuse, "It's too light for that now!"

"We're filming in a nearby studio building with the lights blacked out, you idiot!" John laughs, "Macca wasn't gonna send you out into the night with nothing but a torch. We can use the stage lights stored in the studio so the fans can actually _see_ your face."

Running for the tour bus that waits to collect me in the car park, my heart sings as I notice Cathy sitting alone in the restaurant, nibbling on a piece of toast and reading the morning newspaper. I _know_ that Paul will be expecting me outside, but I _need_ to see her before I go. Fuck it; I'll only be three minutes with her! The camera crew will have to wait!

"Cathy!" I hastily grab her attention, and just hope I'm not bothering her.

"Oh! Hi George!" she replies cheerily and reaches up for a hug (_God, I hope I don't smell sweaty_).

"You're up bright and early," I observe cheerfully, "had a good night's sleep?"

"Yeah," she closes the paper and now her full attention is on me, "the hotel is _lovely._ You?"

"I slept like a log!" I lie cheerily, but I'm aware that our brief time together is running out, "Look Cathy, how would you like to come along with me to the set of my music video?"

"Which song?" her eyes light up with innocent excitement, and I just want to reach down and kiss her!

"Erm, Blue Jay Way." I answer shakily, trying to keep an unruffled exterior, "We're filming in a studio a few miles away."

"Sure, George!" I take her hand and I'm already walking her outside to the tour bus, "Who else is in the video?"

"Just the band," I reply, trying to ignore Paul impatiently stood by the bus with his arms crossed, "I just wondered if you wanted to come along…and watch me."

"Well," Cathy grins excitedly, and coyly links her arm in mine, "how could I resist?"

"_George_! You overslept!" Paul pouts sulkily, but I know he isn't mad at me (it's too early in the morning for that).

We climb onto the tour bus and sit with the rest of the band. Ringo and John seem to come alive when they spot me with Cathy, and spend the entire bus journey to the studio pestering the girl with searching questions; the subject of our relationship seems to be the most frequently asked query, but Cathy gives nothing away and I admire her for that.

_**When we reach the studio, I'm split up from Cathy, and forced through hair and make-up before I'm sat in front of the cameras…**_

"Right, George!" the director claps his hand together and I feel the nerves building inside me (I should have meditated beforehand!), "we want you to sit here and pretend to play the keyboard on the floor. Oh, and obviously you'll need to lip sync along to the song."

"_Obviously_." I reply sulkily, hating every minute of this unwanted attention.

As the music starts, I spot Cathy stood watching from the empty tour bus, and she gives me a shy wave; I think it's that charming wave that will help me through this nightmare. As I lip sync, I feel the embarrassment burning up in my cheeks and imagine how foolish I must look silently singing along to my own song. But I _need_ to get this out of the way! C'mon Georgie boy, just go along with it and think of Cathy…at least you'll get to see her on the other side of all this…

"Cut!" the director shouts and I involuntarily jump, "George, are you feeling ok?"

"Huh?" I'm confused and self-conscious.

"You look spaced out," the director looks me up and down suspiciously, "you haven't _taken_ anything have you…"

"What?" I cry out, feeling patronised (love is the only drug I'm high on at the moment), "I'm not on _drugs_…not this early in the morning!"

"You're just not focusing on anything," the director replies accusingly, "you look like you're in cloud cuckoo land. Why don't you take a little break and clear your head?"

"Fuck you." I curse under my breath and storm off set.

**Cathy's P.O.V**

George stalks over to the empty tour bus, and I notice the anger dangerously burning in his smouldering eyes; his lips are stretched into a bitter grimace and his eyebrows are furrowed furiously. The livid Beatle stands rigidly beside me but doesn't even acknowledge I'm there, and mumbles a string of bitter curses (apparently directed at the director) beneath his breath. I've never seen him like this, and panic as I wonder how to react without putting him in a worst mood.

"How did the music video go?" I ask feebly, and my anxious question is met with George heatedly kicking the tyre of the huge tour bus.

I flinch instinctively. It's strangely horrifying seeing the quiet and peaceful Beatle taking his pent up frustration out on the coach. This is against his beautiful nature! It's like I'm stood beside a complete stranger. He exhales shakily and reaches deep into his trouser pocket to produce a lighter and packet of cigarettes; as he takes a violent drag, his whole body seems to tremor. I cautiously admire his sublime physical beauty as he stands breathing slowly with his head tilted back, his dark hair curled around his lean shoulders; he blows tobacco tainted clouds of smoke into the air, and I tremble with some raw, unexplainable emotion.

"Look, George…" I finally speak out to calm his rage, but find myself cut off mid-sentence.

The Beatle has moved over to me in a split second and his hand effortlessly entwines itself in my brunette hair. His lips are already violently crushing upon mine and the urgency of the kiss leaves me dazed; I can taste the overpowering tang of tobacco on his tongue and this only adds to the danger of the toxic kiss. His moustache bristles against my top lip, and I struggle to suppress a girlish giggle at the unusual sensation. We seem to stand there, awkwardly pressed up against the tour bus, for hours as George wraps his arms around me. Just as I think the guitarist has released all his caged passion on my quivering lips, he becomes more passionate and his kisses grow even deeper. I allow my hands to wander up his heaving chest, tracing his slender torso and ribcage with searching finger tips. The touch seems to send George into overdrive and soon my hands are resting dreamily upon his neck; the sensation of his pounding pulse against my palms takes me back to the wild race in his Mini.

"George!" I hear Paul's voice in the near distance, "George! Where the hell are you?"

Panicking, I manage to tear my lips away from George and fix my tussled hair before the bassist spots us. I can still taste his burning love in my mouth, like a pleasing reminder that the dreamy kiss was real; I notice George licks his lips ravenously, as though to savour the sweet taste of our first kiss. Paul eyes us both up with a wary glance, and I realise that I'm getting in the way; he must need to speak with George.

"Here you are!" Paul cries to George, "Look, will you just let me speak for five minutes. The director isn't trying to create an argument here, George. We just want this video filmed and then you're free until tomorrow!"

"Erm, I'll see you later, George?" I ask awkwardly, trying to avoid making eye contact with Paul.

"Bye." George replies quietly, without even looking at me and I can tell things are about to get heated between the two Beatles.

"Bye." I reluctantly take my leave, glancing over my shoulder one last time at George and yearning for another kiss. _I love him_.


	6. Chapter 6

**Wow this chapter took too long to upload XD my computer must be having an off day! Would like to thank everyone for the wonderful reviews so far and I'm glad you're enjoying the story **

**Cathy's P.O.V**

"C'mon lazy bones!" little Nicola screeches excitedly, as I sit exhausted on the grass, "Get up, Cathy! _Pleaaaaaase_!"

"Just give me a second to catch my breath!" I smile, and the young girl continues to tear across the beer garden with the tennis ball.

We're moving to our second hotel (near the Cornwall coastline) this evening, and Nicola's mother asked if I could try tire her hyper daughter out before the journey. We've been playing catch with an old tennis ball in the local beer garden for at least an hour now, but Nicola is showing no signs of slowing down. I glance down at my white shorts and notice their covered in grass stains; I feel like a little girl again, and the warm evening sky fills me with pure contentment. But no matter how relaxed I am, the intense kiss I shared with George is still in the back of my mind, and every so often I feel my lips tingle with a warm flush of memory. Day four of filming and I've already _kissed_ a Beatle.

"Hurry up!" Nicola leaps up and down in front of me, "Come and play catch!"

"How about we…" I'm distracted as I notice George (arriving almost on cue) making his way into the beer garden and placing three drinks on a nearby table.

"George!" Nicole cries animatedly, and runs over to the guitarist, lovingly throwing her arms around his legs, "Cathy! Look it's George!"

"Hello, Nicola." George beams down at the breathless girl, "You look like you've been having fun!"

"Me and Cathy were playing catch!" she boasts, and George smiles over at me (my heart feels ready to explode!), "But Cathy got tired!"

"Well," George speaks exaggeratedly, "I've brought us all a _lovely_ drink. So Cathy won't be tired anymore! Here you go Nicola…a nice cold glass of lemonade."

The three of us sit round the small table; George has little Nicola on his knee and holds my hand under the table. To an onlooker, we could have easily been mistaken for a family enjoying the warm summer evening together, and a part of me wanted to stay in this moment forever; a family with George Harrison…what _more_ could a girl wish for? George listens to Nicola's thrilled rabbiting and nods his head attentively, but his dark eyes won't leave my face; he licks his lips involuntarily and my fingertips tingle against his hand. Little Nicola looks down from her glass of lemonade and notices we're holding hands.

"Mr and Mrs George!" she declares merrily and takes another gulp of her drink.

"Oh! No…w…we're not _married_, Nicola!" I'm quick to correct her, "We're just friends!"

George chuckles to himself and affectionately squeezes my hand tighter. I'm surprised that _I _was the one who jumped in to correct Nicola rather than George; he didn't seem to mind being mistaken for my husband, and I wonder if he's enjoying being a part of this fantasy family as well. How can one man be so _perfect_? He spends the next half an hour bouncing little Nicola on his knee, and sings a stream of sweet nursery rhymes until the girl's mother arrives to collect her.

"I never knew you were so good with children!" I whisper as Nicola reluctantly leaves the beer garden with her mother.

"You learn something new every day, I guess." George shoots me a lopsided smile and leans in to tenderly kiss my blushing cheek.

"So, are you feeling any better?" I ask gingerly, my cheek still tickling from the sweet kiss George planted, "You looked pretty annoyed earlier."

"I think the passionate kiss gave _that_ away," George raises his eyebrows mischievously and I remember the pure anger that had fuelled our first kiss, "I'm sorry I was so…_rough_ earlier. I just needed to let off some steam…and I was just _itching_ to snatch a kiss from those sweet lips of yours."

"_George_!" I nudge him playfully, too flustered to even attempt to string a coherent sentence together.

"I can't help it," he dips his head slightly, like a little boy confessing to his teacher, "There's just something irresistible about you! It's your fault for being so stunning!

This declaration of affection is followed by an awkward silence, and I try to think of a conversation starter before things get _too_ uncomfortable. Did George Harrison just admit that he has _feelings_ for me? I _must_ be dreaming! I decide to question him over his marriage, and work out if _our_ relationship will blossom any further than a quick kiss against the tour bus.

"Have you and Pattie thought of having children, then?" I ask casually, hoping George doesn't realise I'm trying to assess the steadiness of his marriage, "I mean, you both come from fairly large families. I suppose starting a family is at the top of your list?"

"Yes," the Beatle smirks to himself and takes a sip of his drink, "Pattie wanted three children…I wanted more!"

"So you're just waiting until all this Beatlemania settles down, I'm guessing?" I notice his expression grows gloomy.

"Well, it's not that easy." he admits quietly, and angles his face away from me to hide the pain.

"Oh?" I'm intrigued now, and my grip on his hand tightens.

"It's just we…" but he stops himself and laughs nervously, "Wow, I shouldn't really be saying this…not even John, Paul and Ringo know anything about it. Pattie doesn't like me talking about these things."

"Pattie isn't here now." _Shit_, that came out harsher than expected! I hope I haven't offended him…

"Well," To my surprise he continues (I can't believe he just let me speak to him like that!), "it's just…we…can't have children."

"_Gosh_," I'm not sure what to say, feeling ashamed of myself for pressuring him into telling me, "I'm sorry to hear that, George."

"It's alright," he forces a weak smile, but the pain still lingers in his eyes, "I guess we'll just have to keep at it. Y'know what they say, If at first you don't succeed…try again."

"Well," I kiss him lovingly on the lips, and comfortingly stroke his dark hair, "I wish you all the luck in the future, George. You and Pattie deserve to be parents."

"Thanks." He smiles appreciatively, and softly returns the warm, feather light kiss.

**George's P.O.V**

_**Later that night…**_

I think the alcohol is starting to kick in now; the tour bus is spinning and I can't seem to feel my face. Filming a drunken scene on the tour bus was the best idea Macca has had all year! Everyone is grinning like an idiot and singing at the top of their lungs as we make our way to the seaside hotel. I sit with John, who has already leapt out his seat twice and attempted to wrestle the steering wheel from the driver's hands, and behind us Ruby sits blurry eyed. At the very back of the bus, Cathy has sat herself with a very sleepy Nicola (she treats her like a little sister!) and seems to be the only passenger (obviously apart from little Nicola) who isn't completely hammered. I _desperately_ want to go over to her, but daren't stand up whilst the bus is moving; I'm too lightheaded to keep my balance and the last thing I want to do is humiliate myself in front of her.

"Well," the director slurs after what seems to be about twenty minutes, "We've arrived at the hotel safely and merrily!"

There's a terrific cheer from the drunken passengers, and before the director has even given the word, they dizzily flood out of the bus and flock into the hotel. Those poor hotel staff have no idea what they're in for! Ringo and Paul have already staggered out into the hotel entrance, and John has clumsily fallen out into the car park. _Now's my chance!_ I manage to grab Cathy's arm as she walks past to leave the bus and without really thinking, impulsively pull her down into my lap; she struggles to contain her blushes and attempts to stand back up, thinking I've made a drunken mistake but I gently hold her down. This _isn't_ a drunken mishap…I just want her…really badly. She silently looks down at me with wide eyed mystification, and this triggers a pounding in my ears as fiery desire surges through my veins. I hold her tighter, passionately burying my face into her neck and hungrily breathing in her perfume; her throat is hot against my face and I can feel her pulse begin to rise.

"Are you getting off or what?" I hear a gruff voice belonging to the impatient coach driver, but refuse to tear myself away.

"Just leave us here," I snap back, pleading that the driver will sod off and let me get down to business, "I can lock up after we've finished."

"Well…don't be too long," he replies sternly, "the director has entrusted _me_ with this bus, y'know…he won't be best pleased if it gets nicked!"

"Yeah, whatever." I don't have time for _him…_I need to be alone with Cathy. I begin to test the girl sat on my lap, and let my lips brush ravenously along her taught jawline. A part of me expects her to shyly pull away, but she lets out a small sigh and leans in to my loving touch.

"Let's have some fun?" I breathe against her, kissing the honey white skin of her throat, "I _need_ you."

"George…I…I love you" she whispers breathlessly, and in a matter of seconds she has thrown her arms around my neck as she straddles my waist.

I waste no time in kissing her hard of the mouth, and allow my eager fingertips to stray beneath her silky skirt. She lets out a sharp gasp as my cold fingers come into contact with her warm inner thigh, and I have to bite my lip to contain the mounting exhilaration knotting in the bottom of my stomach. I can't help but avidly graze her soft skin with my teeth, and her frantic grip around my neck tightens with a combination of lust and primal fear. As I begin to cover her face with a shower of heated kisses, she loosens up and her trembling fingers are soon fumbling with the fiddly buttons of my shirt. I nibble fanatically at her ear as the icy evening air bites at my bare chest. She's _perfect_. The anticipation is unbearable and I'm ready to venture further under her skirt, when I hear someone stood wolf whistling beside me.

"Georgie! You naughty boy!" the voice bellows, and my heart sinks.

"_John_!" I cry out humiliated, and Cathy awkwardly leaps out of my lap.

"See! I told you she wanted you too!" John exclaims proudly, and as he slaps me on the back I am hit with the stench of alcohol (and I thought _I'd_ had too much to drink).

"I see that _now_," I answer slowly through gritted teeth, "but you wouldn't mind stepping outside the bus for an hour or so? We need to finish what we started."

"Bullshit!" John chortles, and my cheeks are soon burning up, "Don't let him fool you, Cathy, he can last fifteen minutes at the most."

"Look John," I try again (this is such a mood killer), "Can you just let me have some time with Cathy…in private."

"Awww can't I join in?" he flutters his eyelids sweetly and Cathy laughs quietly, but I'm not in the mood for this.

"No!" My replies grow tetchier, "Just go shag Ruby or something! Leave us alone!"

"I'm sorry, I can't do that." He replies haughtily, "Pattie is on the phone. She rang to see how you are getting on…so I came to find you."

"Shit!" I frantically move to button up my shirt, and notice the hurt glint in Cathy's expectant eyes, "This _really_ isn't a good time for her to ring up."

"Try telling _that_ to Pattie." John winks cheekily as he exits the bus, "Now get those nips covered up and let's go!"

As I speedily rise from my seat, I feel Cathy catch my trembling hand in her own. I look down at her and feel the itching thirst return. Should I just stay ignore Pattie and stay here with Cathy? I _really_ want to…but I _know_ I can't. Pattie's my wife, and I'm supposed to cherish her over everything else.

"I guess this is goodnight then?" Cathy whispers gloomily, and I reach down to kiss her gently on the lips.

"Maybe another time…" I reply wretchedly, before leaving her sat there…alone.


	7. Chapter 7

**Cathy's P.O.V**

It's 8am, and the beach is completely empty. I sit in my swimming costume on a gnarled rock in a sheltered cove, letting my toes dangle weightlessly in the refreshing sea and enjoying the gentle breeze that ruffles my hair; it feels so good to be back out in the fresh air. I try to convince myself that I'm sitting here to enjoy the beach, but truthfully I'm here to try clearing my head. Last night was incredibly frustrating; just thinking about how _close_ I got to making love to George after sharing my first kiss with him that morning is enough to bring me to tears. I should have known Pattie was going to get in the way sooner or later. I think the thing that hurt the most was the fact that George would drop our romance so easily as soon as Pattie came back into the picture. Perhaps he doesn't want a serious relationship outside his marriage. Maybe I should take a step back and stop letting myself fall hopelessly for a man who is already taken…

"Cathy!" I hear him call from across the beach, and he is striding across the sand towards me in swimming trunks with an ice cream cone in each hand.

"What are you doing here?" I ask petulantly, annoyed that I can't escape my crippling love for George no matter where I try to hide!

"I…brought you an ice cream," he looks taken aback, and sheepishly hands me the vanilla ice cream, "It did have a chocolate flake in it…but John ate it."

"Thanks." I answer quietly, and George sits himself on the rock beside me.

"I came down here to do some filming with the band," he tries to spark up a conversation, "but it turns out the director wants to film a scene with Mr Buster Bloodvessel and Ringo's auntie. So I get a break!"

"Great." I force a smile, but all I can think about is George leaving me alone on the tour bus last night and how dejected I felt.

"Look, about last night," he sighs and I feel his warm hand wrap around mine, "I'm really sorry, Cath. I _honestly_ didn't expect Pattie to be ringing me up whilst I'm away filming."

"I see." I desperately want to tear my hand away from George's to demonstrate my misery, but I just _can't_ let go, "After all, she _is _your wife."

"She treats me like a child sometimes," he continues, gazing out to sea, and I sense a hint of bitterness in his voice, "She's always ringing me up whenever I leave the house or wanting to go _everywhere_ with me…"

"Maybe she doesn't trust you?" I shrug, and George smiles wryly (God, I can't resist that smile!).

"What I'm trying to say is I'm sorry about leaving you last night," George looks me dead in the eye, and I feel weak at the knees, "I know I treated you like shit. But we can still be friends, right?"

He holds out his hand to shake mine and seal the deal of friendship; but as I take his hand firmly, he craftily pulls me into him and kisses me hard on the lips. There's no point struggling…I know I'm enjoying this as much as he is. As we pull away from each other, he is grinning foolishly at me and the last of my annoyance vanishes into the crisp sea air.

"I knew you'd fall for it!" he cries triumphantly and wraps his arm around my shoulders, "So we're back on?"

"You _know_ I like you too much to give you up." I mumble shyly, and his smiling lips are soon pressed against my ear.

"And I like you." He whispers gently in my ear, twirling his finger in a stray wisp of my hair.

I sit nibbling on my ice cream thoughtfully. Perhaps George does love me more than Pattie; after all he did say that their marriage was struggling thanks to Pattie's watchful eye and mistrust. Could I be in with a chance of stealing George Harrison's beautiful heart? Looking him up and down, I can't think of any better prize to compete for. The sight of him in those swimming trunks is enough to give me a nosebleed…

"How is the ice cream?" I turn to ask him, but my question is answered by a slender finger upon my nose, and the fleeting touch leaves behind a cold, numbing sensation. Did he just wipe ice cream…on my nose? I self-consciously reach up to rub the white streak away, afraid the camera crew will come filming and embarrass me, but George quickly seizes my hand and lowers it back down to my side. What is he doing? Has he caught sun stroke? He slowly leans in with a childish grin across his face and to my (delighted) surprise licks the stripe of ice cream from my nose. Bizarre? Yes, but hardly the weirdest thing I've encountered on the tour so far.

"George?" a confused voice is heard.

"Pattie?" George spins round with a look of icy horror written across his face, "When did you get here?"

"Just in time by the looks of things…" Pattie sounds far from impressed and shoots me a hostile glare.

"I've missed you, baby!" George leaps up and distracts his wife from glowering at me with a firm embrace, but I can hear that the enthusiasm in his voice is strained, "I had no idea you were coming to visit me!"

"Well," Pattie smiles contently and melts into her husband's arms, "after speaking with you on the phone last night, I realised just how much I wanted you home. So I've decided to stay with you for the rest of the tour… I just _can't_ bear us being apart. I love you _so much_, Georgie."

"But, I don't think Paul will want…" George sounds desperate to prevent her staying for the remainder of the film.

"Don't worry about Paul," she beams up at him, "I've already spoken with him. He says its fine for me to come along."

"So you're staying?" George kisses her gently on her forehead, and every fibre of my being shudders with frustration.

She eagerly reaches up and kisses his lips passionately; I feel hot jealousy burn in my veins as she replaces the kisses I had left on George's lips. As the kiss begins to linger on for a bit _too_ long, I grow uncomfortable and silently skulk past the smooching couple. I _refuse_ to stand there and watch my dream man with his tongue down someone else's throat. Storming across the beach with my eyes fixed firmly on the ground, I almost walk straight into Ringo and the drummer catches me in his arms before I fall flat on my face.

"Are you ok?" he asks gently as he helps me back to my feet, "You look stressed out."

"Oh," I try act casually (this is my first encounter with Ringo and the last thing I want to do is make a fool out myself), "I'm fine, really…it must be the heat. I'm not used to this kind of weather in Britain."

"Yeah," Ringo smiles kindly, "for a moment I thought I was in Spain."

Ringo has already worked wonders managing to stifle the fury caused by Pattie's unscheduled arrival, and I automatically wrap my arms around him in an appreciative hug. He seems to understand my pain, and returns the sympathetic squeeze with such warmth that I feel like I've known him all my life. As the hug comes to an end, I notice the drummer glancing across the beach and follow his gaze; George walks leisurely along the shore with his arm draped around Pattie's tiny waist.

"I'm sorry." Ringo mumbles apologetically to me, realising how difficult it will be for me to cope with the next fifteen days on set.

"I'll survive." I try to reply indifferently, but my voice quivers with grief and tears are blurring my vision.

**A/N – Sorry guys, Pattie's still got some interfering left to do yet! :P But does Georgie still love his wife? Or has he fallen for Cathy instead?**


	8. Chapter 8

**Cathy's P.O.V**

It's been three days since _she_ joined the tour, and time seems to drag now. I sit on the tour bus, constantly trying my hardest to avert my eyes from Pattie and George sitting together; no matter how hard I try, I keep overhearing snippets of their conversations and can't stand having to listen to them talking romantic babble at each other. George has started wearing his costume again since his wife has come aboard, the huge sunglasses and hat veiling his handsome features; it's like Pattie's trying to hide him away from the world out of distrust. Ringo has been an absolute Godsend helping me through this awkwardness, and I've relocated to sit behind him. I just can't stand having to watch George and Pattie flirt any longer. Pattie's sister Jenny has also turned up for the rest of the tour…so now it's virtually impossible for me to see George in private at all! Whenever Pattie's not around Jenny is standing closely beside her brother-in-law, as though guarding him from prying eyes in her sister's place.

"Just try to forget about them," Ringo smiles encouragingly when he notices my eyes unwillingly wandering back to George, "you can still enjoy the rest of the tour if you put your mind to it!"

"If only…" I murmur, struggling to get George's perfection out of my head.

To make things worse, the fans have somehow found out about the Beatles filming in Cornwall and the bus is now being hounded by a stream of cars 24/7. We can't even relax on the road without being harassed by the incessant honking of horns and shrieking of obsessed fan girls; myself, Ruby and Pattie in particular have been warned by Paul to stay in the security bus until instructed its safe to leave. The last thing I need right now is to have my eyes clawed out by resentful fans. It's John who is taking this constant pestering the worse though…

"That's it!" John suddenly yells, and I jump out of my seat in shock, "I can't stand being followed like this any longer!"

"Just sit tight, John." Paul warns his band mate, "We don't know how _violent_ the fans can get."

"I don't give a fuck!" John is tearing down the aisle, and the driver has to swerve to park in a small country lane before the furious Beatle forces his way out of the moving bus.

"John!" Paul cries warily, and rises to follow his stressed friend, "John! Please just sit down! Relax!"

Peering out of the window, I watch John march outside the tour bus and start shouting furiously at the long line of traffic that snakes behind. There is an awkward silence on board the bus as Paul rushes out after him; he is placing a comforting hand on John's shoulder, but John violently shrugs the bassist away. George and Ringo soon leave the coach to help Paul quieten their agitated band mate before he does something stupid; the unwanted attention just seems to make John worse, and he is visibly shaking. Things look like they're about to get nasty! I _can't_ stand just sit here watching the quarrel much longer, and dash outside to help control him before things _really_ get out of hand.

"John!" Paul sounds desperate, "_John_! Just leave it! You're only making things worse…the director's calling the police, OK? They'll sort this out."

"But they won't, will they?" John spits bitterly, "The police are fucking shite at helping us with the nutcase fans! They always have been and they always will be!"

"But these people aren't nutcases, Johnny," Ringo attempts to reason with the frustrated man, "They just came to see us. They're not doing this to _spite_ us."

"Well," John retorts, "they've seen us now…they can fuck off home."

"John," George's voice is firm and steady (who can resist that voice?), "You're making a dick of yourself. Just calm down and get back on the bus until this is all sorted out. You're only making the situation worse."

"Oh, I'm making the situation worse am I, Georgie?" John growls sardonically, and without any warning tears the Magical Mystery Tour sign from the side of the tour bus.

"John! Don't!" Paul cries out in despair as the sign lands in a crumpled heap on the ground.

I _can't_ just stand here and let this happen! I rush over to John (forgetting for a moment he's a Beatle!) and spontaneously throw my arms around him in a secure embrace to hopefully restrain him from hurting anybody. What else can I do? I shakily brace myself for the force of the frantic struggle or thrashing as the man tries to fight me off. But to my surprise, he seems to wilt beneath my touch, and actually begins to tenderly return the hug. He's trembling against me as the last of his rage seeps away, and his breath escapes his chest in quivering pants; I've never seen John Lennon look so _fragile_! It's easy to see the pressure of filming and the public is really taking its toll. I awkwardly stroke the back of his head, not really sure how to react to his affectionate clasp but being careful to avoid upsetting him again. His hair is textured and shaggy to touch…much different than George's dark, sleek waves.

"It's alright, John." I whisper gently, and he buries his face in the crook of my neck, "Just try breathing _slowly_…relax."

"I just need some space." He breathes shakily into my collar bone and his arms are soon draped softly around my waist.

"I know," I feel my cheeks flush, well aware that George is watching our clumsy cuddle, "but this isn't helping things. Let's just get back on the bus and…"

His lips have found their way to my mouth, and I'm too thunderstruck to even react. What do I _do_? I _want_ to enjoy the kiss…I mean when will I get another chance to kiss THE John Lennon, but it just doesn't _feel_ right. I'm too accustomed to the sweet kisses of George to really feel _anything_ as John's searching hands run up and down my back. His tongue presses against my lips, forcing my mouth open and his hands rest awkwardly on the small of my back. His fingers have wound their way into my hair, and he violently pulls at my locks with fiery passion; I can fell pained tears stinging my eyes…and I thought _George_ was rough! I hear the metallic clatter echo in my ears as John zealously forces me up against the loaded coach. This kiss is beginning to get a tad too passionate for my liking…

"What the fuck are you doing, John?" He wrenches his lips away as Ruby stands watching with a look of horror across her pretty face.

"It's not what it looks like!" I cry out, prizing myself free from John's arms, "John was upset so I…"

"So you decided to shag him against the tour bus?" she practically screams at me.

"No! We weren't doing anything serious!" I feel everyone's eyes on me and it's excruciating, "John was stressed out and…"

"Don't even talk to me!" she hisses before climbing back aboard the bus.

"Awww Ruby!" John calls out remorsefully, and is soon chasing her onto the coach, "I didn't mean it, darling! You're still the one for me!"

The icy guilt returns as I remember how awful _I_ had felt when I thought George was attracted to Ruby…and now I've just snogged the face off the man _she_ loves! And what's worse is that the whole coach and the rest of the band have just witnessed me necking John against the tour bus. I want the world to open up and swallow me. Paul shakes his head in utter disbelief, and Ringo strains to pull a sympathetic smile but I can tell he's just as disappointed. The most unbearable part of this is having to walk past George to board the bus. Even behind those huge sunglasses and beneath the shade of his hat, I can still spy the raw agony that twists his expression. Maybe he _does_ love me after all…and I've just ruined _everything_ by getting involved where I'm not needed. He emotionlessly turns away when he notices me staring and refuses to even look at me for the remainder of the bus journey back to the hotel. _Oh God, what have I done!_

**George's P.O.V**

We're back on board the bus, and I feel completely numb. Did that _really_ happen? Did I honestly just watch my best friend snogging the girl he _knows_ I secretly like? Cathy won't make eye contact with me as she sits herself down beside Mr Bloodvessel; she just hangs her head in shame and I wouldn't be surprised if she starts bawling her eyes out again. I'm not sure how to feel about her at the moment…if anything I'm bitterly disappointed. I thought she loved _me_ too. John had assured me time after time she was crazy for me…but how can I trust John after what he's just put me through? I feel a delicate hand rest upon my arm, and my eyes meet the dazzling blue doe eyes of my wife. She shoots me a sweet and apologetic smile as the sunlight cascades down her golden hair; she always looks so _stunning_…so _why_ can't I love her anymore? The fire that had once flared up inside me whenever Pattie smiled has been doused and it seems only Cathy yields the influence to relight a passion long gone. Has our marriage really gotten this bad?

"Are you ok, darling?" she asks quietly, and her lips plant quick, soft kisses on my tensed cheek.

"Yeah," I answer carefully, not wanting to reveal my affection for Cathy in front of my wife, "I'm just _tired_. I'll be glad to get off this bloody tour bus and back home."

"I can't wait to have you home," her fingers dance along my arm, and she flutters her long eyelashes pleasantly, "and I'm looking forward to spending the night in back in _our_ bed! I can't sleep in this hotel…the bed is too bumpy."

"Well, I'm looking forward to spending tonight in bed with _you_." I try my hardest to sound flirtatious, but even as the words pass my lips, they sound dead to me.

"Georgie!" she squeaks excitedly, and her lips are on mine…but still I feel _nothing_. What is wrong with me?

**A/N – Believe it or not, John ripping the Magical Mystery Tour sign from the side of the bus is based on true events (Well obviously apart from the kiss with Cathy haha)**


	9. Chapter 9

**Cathy's P.O.V**

After a full day of being given the cold shoulder by virtually the _whole_ tour bus I'm at breaking point. I feel like such a slag! I can't believe I let myself be kissed by John in front of Ruby…in front of _George_! He probably thinks I _planned_ it to get back at him over Pattie joining the tour. Since the awkward incident, everyone on the coach eyes me like I'm a piece of dirt, and avert their eyes when they notice me looking. Even John has been avoiding me, spending the majority of his time sheepishly trying to redeem himself and win back Ruby's heart. I know there's no other option...if I want to be accepted by the coach again, I need to make things up with George first. That evening, I decide to pay him a visit and apologise for making out with John in front of him. I'm just as guilty as John…I could have put an end to the heated kiss much sooner. Stood outside his hotel room, a sudden wave crippling nerves grasp hold of me and it takes me a moment or two to pull myself together. Why am I so scared? What if he refuses to speak with me? My trembling fingertips leave sweaty prints on the door knob as I struggle to muster up all my confidence. This is it.

As I quietly open the door, my mouth drops with a combination of icy shock and misery. George is in his rumpled bed, laid on his stomach and resting all his weight on his trembling elbows; beneath him I spot a tangle of blonde hair splayed out across the pillow and a pair of slender arms snake themselves around the guitarist's neck. He passionately lowers his lips to his wife's exposed neck, but a sudden gasp of humiliation escapes my lips, and George's head abruptly jerks up to spot me. For a moment there is an excruciatingly awkward silence. Pattie frowns at me from beneath her husband, and I manage to tear myself away from the uncomfortable scene.

"_Shit_, I'm so sorry George!" is my babbled apology, as I turn to leave and slam the hotel door shut behind me.

I stand shakily for a few moments with my back leant against the door for support, my cheeks blazing and eyes welling up. I don't know what's worse, the burning embarrassment or heartache after seeing George in bed with his wife. I thought he loved _me_. But he's in there now, balls deep in his wife and obviously falling for her all over again. Tearing myself away from the door, I feel the bitter sickness rising in my chest just thinking about all the time and effort I've been wasting on George only to see him run back to Pattie. My legs feel like stone as I _try_ to race down the empty corridor, hoping to escape this nightmare before George follows me and humiliates me further. I hear him shouting me back, but refuse to look over my shoulder and push myself forward; I just want to get out of here before I collapse in a heap of sobs and tears. His footsteps are hammering along the carpet behind me, and his hands firmly grasp my shoulders from behind in an attempt to stop me. He spins me round, and I'm instantly crushed into his bared chest in a protective clasp. The sensation of his hot, bare skin against me is heavenly, but the anger bubbling inside me forces my body to fiercely push away from the embrace. He looks so _desperate_, stood there shivering in nothing but his boxer shorts, and struggling to hold me tight in his arms.

"Cathy!" he pleads distraughtly, "Please don't storm off like this! Let me speak to you first…"

"I've obviously come at a bad time!" I spit viciously, "So just let me _go_!"

"George!" Pattie prances out of the hotel room, clad in a delicate silk dressing gown and my stomach churns with hatred, "_Cathy_? What on earth are you doing out here?"

"Just go back to bed, Pattie." George orders his wife, rubbing his closed eyes with a trembling thumb and fore finger, "I'll be back in a moment…I just _need_ to talk to Cathy."

"Don't bother, George." I reply bitterly, turning my back on the Beatle and his bemused wife, "He's all yours, Pattie."

With that, I leave the couple stood gawping and hold my head high as I march down the everlasting corridor towards the sanctum of my hotel room. I maintain this proud stance until I'm locked within the confinement of my room, and burst into resentful tears. Throwing myself onto the bed in a fit of envious rage, I bury my ruddy, tear stained face into the comforting pillow and shamelessly pour my broken heart out. Looking up from my pillow through tear filled eyes, I spy George's book at the foot of my bed and the foul rage returns. I don't want _that_ in my room anymore! I grasp the heavy book and force myself out of the hotel room, ready to rid myself of George's influence once and for all.

Reaching his hotel room, I find the door thrown wide open and the room is completely empty. Cautiously, I creep into the room and aloofly throw the hardback book onto the crumpled bed; the room is still filled with the stench of the couple's love making session, and my nose curls up with disgust.

"Good riddance." I murmur to the discarded book.

"What do you think you're doing here?" Pattie is stood in the doorway, her arms crossed across her chest and a frown casts intimidating shadows over her large eyes.

**George's P.O.V**

_Fuck_! I did _not_ expect that to happen. Now I've _really_ ruined my chances with Cathy! She wasn't meant to see me with Pattie, and I doubt she's going to stick around for me to explain myself. I race along the empty corridor and hammer frantically on Ringo's door. He's the eldest; he should know what to do in a situation like this. No reply. C'mon Rings, I _really_ need you!

"What?" Ringo yells as he flings the door open, but his face softens when he realises it's only me, "George? Why are you stood at my door…in your boxers?"

"Rings!" I cry out in relief that he's _finally_ answered the fucking door, "I really need you, mate. _God_…everything's gone arse up…"

"Just calm down Georgie boy," Ringo rubs his tired eyes with the palm of his hand (I must have caught him having a nap), "speak _slowly_. I can't understand a word you're saying! I'm not a mind reader you know."

"I was in bed with Pattie…" I begin shakily.

"Sleeping or _sleeping_?" Ringo winks exaggeratedly and nudges my arm.

"You _know_ what kind of sleeping I mean." I mumble shyly, and Ringo smiles to himself with amusement.

"I'm jealous!" he laughs warmly, "I'm stuck in here alone, and you're having the time of your life rolling a pretty lady around the bed sheets."

"But that's the _problem_," I reply gloomily, "Cathy…she kind of walked in on us…in the middle of..."

"Oh," Ringo's face falls serious, "I can tell why you're so upset, then."

"I don't know what to do!" I feel like crying, this is unbearable, "I _can't_ lose Cathy now…but I can't lose Pattie either!"

"Look," Ringo speaks soothingly (he always looks out for me), "you'll just have to go and talk to them both…obviously not at the same time, we don't want a cat fight breaking out. It's up to _you_ to choose who you go with, Georgie; you can't keep this double relationship up much longer. It's not fair on Cathy _or_ Pattie."

"I…I guess you're right," I run a hand nervously through my messy hair and dread the difficult decision I'll have to make, "I better be getting back to Pattie…she's pretty pissed off about all this."

"Good lad." Ringo slaps me on the back supportively, before retiring back to bed.

Well, that's it. I _have_ to choose now before things get violent between my two lovers. But _who_ do I choose? The love I hold for Cathy makes me feel eighteen again, and I seem drawn to her natural beauty. Just being in her presence takes me back to those sweaty nights spent with the band in the nightclubs of Hamburg, and the nervous lumps that would form in the back of my throat when I tried speaking to pretty girls; she reminds me of all the clumsy encounters with my first girlfriends and gorgeous Astrid. But my love for Pattie feels more mature and acceptable. I _can't_ just let her go now our relationship has blossomed into marriage. She's been the muse to so many of my songs, and supported me throughout my journey into spiritualism; so why have I lost all romantic feelings for her?

"What the hell did you even think you were doing just walking into his room like that?" I hear Pattie's icy voice echo down the corridor. _Shit_, she's with Cathy! As if things couldn't get any worse! Why couldn't she have just stayed at home instead of coming here and complicating everything? I honestly just want to be left alone with Cathy…

"Look, I'm sorry I walked in on you!" as I approach the bickering girls, Cathy is impressively standing her ground.

"Could you just make sure you knock next time before walking into _our_ room?" my wife doesn't even try to disguise the hatred in her biting voice.

"I'm sorry." Cathy repeats firmly, but I can tell she's struggling to hold it together.

"George!" Pattie has noticed me stood hopelessly watching the argument, and cruelly decides to drag me back into the dispute, "Can you just tell this stupid girl to get lost? I can't stand her hanging around my room all night. I came here to be with you…not to feel like a third wheel in my _own_ marriage!"

"Pattie, I…" I'm not really sure _what_ to say, and probably look pathetic stood there gaping and stuttering nervously.

"Don't bother, George." Cathy replies blankly, her eyes fixed lifelessly on the wall ahead of her, "I was just passing by."

"_Liar_!" Pattie hisses cruelly (she may be a pretty face, but she can be a real demon when she's mad), "You were _in_ our room! Probably stealing something…you look the type. Jenny warned me about you! Just keep away from my husband."

Cathy doesn't even retort to the biting accusations, just dips her head and marches past me. Pattie's face is lit with a smug smile, and I can safely say I've _never_ hated someone so much in my entire life. My wife slinks over to me sensually, but if anything the sensation of the silk dressing gown against me repels me instead of arousing me. Her arms slither around my neck, and she kissing me full on the mouth. I grudgingly return to kiss, and soon she's enticing me back to bed with a flirtatious wink. I follow her, my body drooping slightly with discontent and she's closing the door behind me; I feel trapped.

"How about we finish what we started?" Pattie purrs, sitting delicately on the bed, "I was having such fun before _she_ interrupted."

I try to maintain eye contact with the model seductively stretching out across the sheets, but my eyes fall upon a hardback book left discarded at the bottom of the bed. As I curiously pick the book up, my heart sinks…it's the book I leant Cathy.

**Will Georgie be albe to win back Cathy? :O**


	10. Chapter 10

**Cathy's P.O.V**

Day ten of filming and I think I'm just about ready to wash my hands of George…for good. I'm fed up with him messing me around like this! Every day spent filming is like a chore now, and I'm exhausted from constantly dodging him and his clingy wife. If he wants to be with Pattie…that's fine with me. I've come to realise that I can't always have what I want. I feel as lonely and miserable as I had felt that very first day of filming when I was forced to sit on my own; not only do I have to avoid George now but also John because of that awkward kiss, and Ruby hates my guts. Even Ivor (Mr Bloodvessel) is treating me like shit, and constantly speaks about me like I'm some kind of slut; Ringo is probably the only passenger on here defending me and at least _trying_ to cheer me up! I'm just looking forward to finishing filming and getting home before anything else humiliating happens! This is all too stressful!

"Right," the director shouts over the chorus of mumbling passengers as we climb off the bus after another gruelling day of filming, "I think we've just about finished filming for today. So you've got the rest of the afternoon to yourself."

Most of the passengers are already making their way back to the hotel or dashing straight for the warm beach. George and Pattie are striding hand in hand towards the hotel…so I think I'll go to the beach for a while. Taking my shoes off, I run bare foot onto the warm shore, enjoying the feeling of the grains of sand between my toes; the freedom from George and all the heartache I've endured is elating. But the beach is quickly filling up, and desperate for some more tranquillity, I decide to tackle an inviting white cliff that looms over the coastline. Plus, Ruby's arrived on the beach in her skimpy bikini, and the last thing I need right now is conflict over the 'John incident'.

Climbing to the top of the cliff, red faced and panting, my eyes fall upon a young man sat in the grass looking out to sea. Craning my neck to get a better look at the figure, I recognise his prominent profile and the feathered hat…_it's John_. He sits smoking and tugging grass from the ground, lost in his own mind. For a moment, I wonder if he's tripping out up here away from the cameras and extras; but he appears to be sober enough, and anyway if he was tripping…it's more than likely George would be too.

"What are you doing up here?" I ask kindly, secretly pleased to find John sat on the cliff top, gazing out to sea.

"I came up here to clear my head," John admits awkwardly, as though embarrassed that I've discovered his more sensitive side, "I can't stand listening to people fucking yapping at me all the time."

"Mind if I join you?" I inquire gawkily, sitting myself cross-legged in the grass beside him, "I could do with some peace and quiet too."

"What's up?" John asks, nonchalantly lighting up a cigarette and blowing smoke clouds in my face.

"I don't really feel like talking about it," I cough, wafting the smoke from my nostrils, "it's not important anyway…I'll get over it."

"Suit yourself." John replies offhandedly. That's what I like about talking to John; if you're in a bad mood, he won't try to pester you or piss you off. We sit there, in complete silence for some time and John continues to blow circles of smoke that get caught up in my flowing hair.

"John?" I ask nervously, hoping I'm not annoying him _too_ much.

"Yes?" he replies, his eyes fixated on the hazy horizon ahead.

"How are things between you and Ruby lately?" I can't seem to control the words streaming out.

"Erm, well things _could_ be better," he admits uncomfortably and puts out the cigarette, "I mean, the little smooch we shared against the bus didn't really _help_ matters. She's _certain_ that I'm stringing her along now…"

"I'm sorry about that, John." I mumble shyly.

"Nah," he takes a lengthy drag of his cigarette and sighs, "It's not your fault._ I_ kissed you first, remember?"

"Well…I know this will sound pretty strange," I murmur nervously, picking grass out of the ground and watching it float on the sea breeze, "but would you mind if…I kiss you again?"

"No," he turns to look at me, a mischievous grin creeping across his face and his eyes light up, "do you _want_ me to kiss you, Cathy?"

I don't answer. Instead, I hungrily lean in and kiss him firmly on the lips, hoping…praying that I will feel the sparks that shook me when I first kissed George. His lips are much coarser than George's and mine are already sore from the heated kiss, but I'm in no position to start complaining. I awkwardly run a quivering hand through his tussled hair and he is grazing my cheek with his rough fingertips. His scorching breath burns the back of my throat, and the taste of tobacco reminds me of my first kiss with George; even whilst I'm with another man, I _still_ can't get him out of my head! We sit there smooching on the windy cliff top for some time, and I'm surprised we haven't been interrupted already; anyone could easily stumble upon us…but to be honest, I'm too pissed off right now to even care. I don't feel guilty; I'm not George's property and I have the right to kiss whoever I want to! John is returning the kiss, but after a while he seems to grow hesitant and his lips suddenly purse shut. What's wrong? Isn't he enjoying this?

"I just _can't_, Cathy," he pulls away from the kiss and I can see the disappointment cloud his eyes, "it's…it's not right."

"If you don't find me attractive John, just tell me next time." I comment bitterly, turning away to hide my mortification. Maybe I wasn't meant to fall for a Beatle after all…

"No, you're _hot_!" he replies warmly, and his hands are wrapped around mine, "But I can't have what's not mine."

"What do you mean?" I ask defensively, and John's thumb comfortingly rubs against my tense hand.

"Don't play silly buggers, Cathy!" John smiles tenderly, "It's _obvious_ George wants you. I'm not going to get involved where I'm not needed."

"No, you don't have to worry about George," I answer glumly, "He's got Pattie."

"But, I'm married too." John frowns at my reasoning, "that hasn't stopped you trying to kiss me!"

"You don't _understand_," I persist, becoming hot and flustered, "I'm not expecting a relationship lasting any longer than the two weeks filming…I'm not _that_ naïve!"

"You never know with Georgie boy," John nudges me encouragingly, "things haven't been going too well with his marriage lately…"

"That doesn't mean he's going to risk everything and leave his wife for a girl he's known for ten days!" I argue, refusing to let John build my hopes up only to have them come crashing down around me.

"Don't be so _negative_!" John smirks, and I try to fight back the tickling smile forcing its way across my lips, "What makes you think it's already over?"

"Well," I mumble, embarrassment burning in my cheeks, "let's just say when I walked into his hotel room…George seemed awfully _busy_ with Pattie."

"You walked in on them shagging!" John asks wide eyed, trying to stifle his laughter.

"Well, isn't _that_ enough proof for you," I reply miserably, pulling apart a daisy I moodily yanked from the ground, "he's obviously sorted out his marriage now…he doesn't need me fucking everything up for him."

"Nope," John crosses his arms defiantly and I can't help but smile like a fool, "George loves _you_. I _know_ it! You're all he ever talks about these days…the boring bastard!"

"Whatever you say, John." I try to pretend I'm not convinced, but there's the niggling hope in the back of my mind that John is right about George.

"Anyway, I heard that last time Pattie was over at Eric Clapton's house, she…" but he's interrupted by Ringo who has awkwardly approached us.

"Erm, sorry if I'm interrupting," the drummer is apologetic, but a look of urgency can be seen in his expression, "but I need to speak to Cathy."

"What about?" I ask, instinctively nervous of the reply.

"Well," Ringo looks around awkwardly, "I'm not really supposed to say…"

"It's George, isn't it?" John grins, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah," Ringo admits quietly, "he _really_ wants to speak with you Cathy."

"Why didn't he trail up here himself then?" I ask bitterly, pulling another daisy to pieces between my fumbling fingertips, "He can't be _that_ desperate to see me."

"Please Cathy," Ringo continues pleadingly, "he's really upset. He thinks you hate him…just come down to the beach and talk with him. Pattie won't be there…if that's what you're worried about."

"Cathy," John is now looking me dead in the face, "listen to Ringo. George _needs_ you! Don't be cruel…just go see him. You know you'll _always_ regret it if you leave him like this. You're too lovely to break his heart"

"I guess you're right." Wow I feel like such a malicious bitch.

"Go to him." John smiles softly, and plucking up a pretty daisy, gently places it in my long brunette hair.


	11. Chapter 11

**Cathy's P.O.V**

"Cathy! I'm so glad you turned up!" George's shadowy eyes light up enthusiastically as I quietly sit beside him on the sand.

"Ringo said you needed to talk to me." I answer uncooperatively, but deep down I'm mentally kicking myself for being so harsh.

"Yes, I do." He looks down at the sand with a nervous snicker, and I can't help but admire the way his dark eyelashes cast shadows across his cheekbones, "I didn't think you'd talk to me, though."

"Well?" I ask impatiently, and a flash of grief glints in his eyes (I kind of wish he was wearing those huge sunglasses so I wouldn't have to see him hurt), "What do you want to talk about?"

"Well," he stabs his finger into the sand and begins to draw, "about us…I guess. And about what happened last night…"

"I don't really want to talk about it…" I reply coldly, still infuriated (and _really_ embarrassed) by what had happened, "if Ringo had told me I was coming here to discuss your sex life with Pattie, I wouldn't have come down here."

"Oh." George is left speechless and unsure how to change my foul mood, so continues to draw in the sand.

We sit in a small cave off the beach, and the isolation from the rest of the world just makes things seem _more_ awkward. He reveals his drawing with a proud grin plastered across his face, and in the sand "George loves Cathy" is scrawled in a wobbly heart. My whole body trembles with the passionate throb of my aching heart, but I don't let on that I'm interested and sniff unfeelingly; I refuse to back down _this_ time. George now sits silently, pretending to casually watch the waves lapping at the beach, but I notice his nervous eyes flickering back to me at intervals.

"To be honest, Cathy," he sighs, staring out to sea, "the only reason I slept with Pattie in the first place was out of guilt."

"What do you mean?" I ask quietly, still refusing to meet his gaze.

"Well, I know I _should_ be in love with my wife," George explained awkwardly, "so I thought…sleeping with her would rekindle the love I had when we first met…"

"Oh," I answer venomously, and stand up to leave George alone on the beach, "I'm glad you've managed to save your marriage then, I hope you're happy together for a long time…"

"Cathy, wait!" George hot hand grabs my wrist, and pulls me back down to the sand, "you're not listening!"

"I'm listening, alright!" I growl, and for the first time in days look him dead in the eye, "and I wish I _hadn't_ listened to you…because now I feel used! I feel like you _used_ me as a remedy for _your_ broken marriage. At least now I know I've been wasting my time on you, and I can put an end to this before I make an even _bigger_ fool out myself. And another thing-"

My heated rant comes to an abrupt end as George's hands are on each side of my face, desperately trying to hold me still. I struggle and try to prize myself free from his clutches. I hope that someone will see this and intervene before I _seriously_ hurt the Beatle. What is he _doing_? He's only making this conversation much harder than it already is!

"Let me go, George!" I protest and continue to thrash out, "Leave me alone!"

George doesn't speak; he just forces his lips against mine and stifles my angry screeching. At first, I'm _furious_. How _dare_ he do this to me after basically admitting he wants his wife over me! Why is he treating me like this and confusing my heart? What did _I_ do to deserve _this_? I try to pull myself away from the kiss, but his hands are holding me tight to him and I gradually grow drained from fighting a losing battle. I _hate_ him…I…think I hate him, anyway. And now…now I feel the disgust begin to disperse, and the anger rising in my chest is subdued. His kisses are like a drug, and I can't help but succumb to the sweet sensation. His warm lips brush the corner of my trembling mouth and I just about collapse into his arms; I can't fight him…I love him _too_ much. He's kissing me full on the lips again, as a lover…as _my_ man.

"You don't _understand_," George whispers gently into my mouth, "I haven't _used_ you to fix my marriage! I slept with Pattie out of guilt…because I know I'm too much in love…with _you_."

"I…I love you too." is all I manage to breathe before George's tongue is back in my mouth, "So, what now?"

"Back to my room?" George smiles seductively, and kisses the inside of my wrist.

"What about Pattie?" I ask anxiously, but George still eagerly persists.

"She's gone out for a drive with her sister Jenny along the coastline," George mumbles, sensually rubbing noses with me, "she'll be out of the way for at least another hour. We have _plenty_ of time."

I can't argue with that! We're soon rushing back to the hotel and racing up flights of everlasting stairs to George's room. Running hand in hand to the heaven of a Beatle's bed is exhilarating, and I can't remember the last time I smiled this much! We pass John in the hallway who shouts encouragingly at his band mate, giving us both zealous thumbs up. When we reach his room, George practically throws the door open and once we're inside makes sure to lock it behind him; there's no way we'll be interrupted this time! The first thing that strikes me is that guitarist's room is much nicer than mine, and I spend a moment or two silently admiring the fancy décor and luxury around me; the last time I stumbled into this room…the décor was honestly the _last_ thing I noticed. I hear George clearing his throat and a strange sensation, like I'm falling down really fast, quickly builds inside me. _This is it._

"Are you ready?" He asks me quietly, raising a thick eyebrow flirtatiously.

"Yes!" I reply enthusiastically, but there are violent butterflies fluttering nervously in my stomach.

He paces up to me with a predatory grin, and I'm soon lost in his arms as he hungrily lowers me onto the lavish bed. I can smell Pattie's perfume on the pillow, and the icy dread returns as I imagine her walking in on us; but George helps take my mind off this as his lips find their way to mine, and I'm reaching up to unbutton his shirt. He's _so_ gentle as he delicately brushes the wispy strands of hair away from my blushing cheeks and tenderly kisses my jawline. His hands dance effortlessly along my body, and soon my silk blouse is thrown across the room to join his creased shirt on the floor. His teeth brush along the exposed skin, and I've already managed to undo the stiff belt of his jeans; he slowly pulls back to remove the denim and his underwear…and I'm astounded. Illuminated in the dim light of the fading sunlight cascading the window, he's just _beautiful_. George smiles modestly at my flabbergasted expression, and a nervous chuckle escapes his parted lips. He gets to work releasing me from the last of my clothes, and we're soon entwined in each other's arms amongst the tangled bed sheets. As his warm skin skims against me I realise that I've never felt so complete in my entire life. His handsome face and flowing, wavy hair is all I see as he lays over me, his dark eyes constantly locked onto mine with burning desire. As I adoringly wrap my limbs around his naked form I _know_ he's mine.

I hear the floorboards creak just outside of the door, and I'm _certain_ I see the door knob rattle as someone tries to urgently enter the room. My heart stops, and I freeze beneath George with pure terror; who could that be? Surely not Pattie! George reassured me she'd be gone for at least another hour. The guitarist seems to notice this intrusion too, but refuses to leave me in the midst of our passion now, and his lips are forcing themselves back on mine. I _want_ to say something…but I'm left wordless as George eagerly returns to his love making. Whoever it is out there, they can wait!

As we reach the finish line together, breathless and covered in a delicate sheet of sweat, my chest brims with a sensation I've never felt before; Pure love. George rolls from on top of me and lies drowsily on his back beside me, entangling his slender fingers with mine. We lay there for a few moments, still completely blown away by the dreamlike physical chemistry we just shared, and I struggle to find the right words to sum up the incredible experience. I absentmindedly turn to face George, who lies with his head thrown back on the pillow, and watch his adam's apple quiver as his racing pulse steadies itself. My fingers are on his chest, tracing invisible patterns along his taught stomach and rising chest. He turns to gaze amorously into my eyes, and his smiling teeth glint in the pale moonlight. Neither of us ever want to leave this place…but sadly, life is never _that_ simple.

"Well," I sigh reluctantly, "I guess I better get going before Pattie turns up…"

"When will I see you again?" George asks intensely and his brow has knitted into a charming frown.

"I don't know. It's just…it's hard with Pattie around," I admit quietly, clambering out of the bed to hurriedly collect my rumpled clothes, "we can't just do this whenever we want. I guess we'll just have to meet up again next time she leaves the hotel."

"No, I can't wait that long." George replies firmly, as though convincing himself that Pattie needs to be moved out of the picture, "I won't be able to stand it! How the hell am I supposed to resist you?"

"We'll just have to _try_." I quickly button up my blouse and kiss comfortingly him on the forehead, "We'll find a way around this, Georgie. I promise."

"No," he gets out of bed, and his physical beauty is enough to knock the breath out of my lungs, "No, I'll just have to get rid of Pattie…somehow."

"How?" I ask fretfully as he throws on his jeans.

"Well," he replies breathlessly, and his arms have snaked their way around my waist to pull me close, "I'll just have to think up an excuse for her to go home…_trust me_, Cathy. We _will_ be together again soon."

"It's sad isn't it?" I breathe, resting my head against his bared collar bone.

"What?" he asks concerned, running his fingers through my ruffled hair.

"Well, we've only got another four days together before we finish filming." I could cry.

"It doesn't have to be that way." George replies frankly, and we're soon kissing again before I'm forced to sneak out of the hotel room to the lobby downstairs.

Whilst descending the stairs, I pass Pattie who stands staring into space with a distant, watery look in her eyes and her lips curled into a bitter grimace. As I quickly pass her (keeping my head down and eyes on the floor) I can feel her pained eyes follow my every move. _Shit_! Well now I know who was stood outside George's hotel room…

**A/N – Oh yeaaah! Thought it was about time I included a steamy chapter XD looks like Pattie is **_**finally**_** off the GeorgeXCathy scene.**


	12. Chapter 12

**George's P.O.V**

As I hurriedly pull on a t-shirt and buckle my belt, I hear the door creak open; has Cathy already come back for round two! I spin round with hopeful eyes, expecting to see her slender figure in the doorway and brunette hair catching in the fading light; instead my expectant glance is met with a pair of misty blue eyes gazing up at me from the shadows cast by the evening dusk and blonde hair that shimmers in the pale moonlight. _Pattie. _She doesn't speak, and I spend a moment or two wondering whether she knows what has just taken place in our room or whether she is blissfully unaware. Trying to avoid any _more_ suspicion, I swiftly cross the room to capture her in a half-hearted hug; she stands stiffly against me with her arms hanging limply at her sides.

"Pattie! When did you get back?" I disguise the bitterness in my voice with a cheery smile.

"I've just got back…and you're sweating." She mumbles unexpectedly, and I don't know how to react to this ambiguous statement, "Why are you sweating so much, George?"

"It's warm this evening." I reply bluntly (the last of my patience with her is slipping away), and she wriggles free from my hold.

"I'm going to freshen up." She replies quietly with eyes drooping to the carpet.

I stalk after her into the bathroom, where she furiously combs her golden locks, and begins to remove the black eyeliner that frames her pretty doe eyes. She notices me watching her in the mirror, and for a moment our eyes lock with the same yearning glance we'd shared the day we first set eyes on each other…all those years ago. But her eyes quickly drop with embarrassment, and she busies herself in cleaning away the last of her lipstick. Desperate for a conversation starter, I decide to redeem myself by offering to take her out to a local seafood restaurant; although I can't really face having to spend the evening trying to talk with her, I feel it's my obligation to cheer her up a bit and at least _try_ to fill the role of the supportive husband.

"Fancy going out for dinner?" I ask gently, my voice hushed and hoarse.

"No." She answers coldly.

"Oh?" I reply unfeelingly, secretly pleased that I can stay in the comfort of my hotel room for tonight and deal with Pattie in private, "Any reason why? I mean, there's a _gear_ seafood restaurant down the road that I _know_ you'd love."

"I just don't feel like it," she releases a melancholy sigh, and turns to me with her bare face (without her makeup, I can read the true hurt in her dismal expression), "I fancy an early night. I'm tired from the drive…"

We undress for bed in silence, our heads dipped as though mourning our dead love and Pattie's eyes are completely dull as I shed the last of my clothes; a year earlier she would have glowed in a heated flush by the very sight of my naked form, but now…nothing. I grudgingly look her nude body up and down, and _try_ to remember the teenage sexual urges I had once felt towards her; on the set of A Hard Day's Night I had dreamt of the moment I would see her naked, yet now seeing her like this is nothing out of the ordinary. We lay down side by side as though placed in tombs, straight out on our backs and rigid…neither of us want to move or touch each other. This is _not_ how I pictured marriage when I proposed…

"How was your drive with Jenny?" I push her to keep talking as the silence becomes painful.

"Nice." And that's it. _That's_ the reply to my question.

"Just nice?" I ask encouragingly, staring into the darkness as my frustration silently mounts.

"_Yes_. Look, I'm _really_ worn-out…goodnight, George." She murmurs unfeelingly, and I realise it's best to give up on her.

"Night."

I reluctantly lean over to kiss her out of duty, but she averts her tremulous lips and her pale cheek is icy cold to touch; I yearn to leave this hotel room and kiss Cathy's velvet lips again. Pattie sulkily rolls over on the pillow to face the wall, and we are both plunged into another protracted and uncomfortable stillness. As she drifts off into a troubled sleep, I hear a familiar name escape her parted lips and my heart sinks with disappointment.

"_Eric_."

_**Early the next morning, I'm roused by a strange sound and force my sleep filled eyes open…**_

"What time is it?" I mumble groggily, as I hear the muffled thud of packed suitcases and the quick, nervous step of my wife on the floorboards, "What are you doing?"

"Oh, I'm leaving." She answers frankly, putting on a cheery voice but I can tell there's _something_ wrong, "I'll just finish packing, and then I'm going back home with Jenny."

"Back to our house?" I murmur, propping myself up against a warm pillow.

"No," she won't meet my eyes, "I'm going to stay with my parents for a while."

"When will you be back _home_?" I ask, too tired to really grasp the seriousness of the situation. My wife could be leaving me…and I'm rolling around in bed. My head is still thick with the fog of a dream I was enjoying before Pattie woke me…a dream of Cathy.

"I don't know, George." She answers quietly, and I hear her voice quiver with tears, "I'm just going away for a while…I think we _both_ need the space."

"Oh, Ok then." I sink back into the pillow, my heavy eyes too tired to stay open much longer.

"Ok then! Is that all you've got to say?" she suddenly turns on me, and her big blue eyes are brimming with sadness, "George! Why won't you _love_ me anymore?"

"I _do_ love you," I think I'm trying to convince myself as much as her, "but you said it yourself, we need a break from each other. Maybe it's for the best."

"I can't believe you." She spits hatefully, and she's marching towards the door with her suitcases at bursting point, "Well, you've got what you want. I'm leaving now! I hope you enjoy the rest of your _holiday_!"

With a slam of the door, she's gone and I feel a stifling weight lift from my chest. There's no point trying to fool myself, it's obvious she _knows_ what happened last night. I picture Pattie and her sister bitching about me all the way home; but it's not _my_ fault, I didn't ask her to come along! I sluggishly stretch out in the messy bed sheets, my fingernails digging ecstatically into the mattress as I extend every muscle in my tired body. God, last night was amazing! Cathy was everything I'd ever dreamed of in a woman, so passionate yet tender. My lips are still moist from the lusty kisses she repeatedly caressed me with, and I'd give _anything_ to have her here snuggled up in the bed beside me once again. Now Pattie's gone, who's to stop us having our fun? My stomach flips with the same red blooded excitement I had experienced when first visiting Hamburg, the naughtiest city I knew of back then; I can do _whatever_ I want with Cathy now, and no one's going to get in the way. I glance back across to the clock on the bedside table. 5am…I wonder if she's awake thinking of me too.


	13. Chapter 13

**Cathy's P.O.V**

It's 1 o'clock in the afternoon and I sit on the warm tour bus, my eyes agitatedly searching the coach for the tiniest glimpse of George. Last night was _unbelievable_…it's all I've been able to think of since waking up in the midst of a romantic dream about him this morning. Biting my lip, I dreamily recall every inch of his slender body, and the way his eyes seemed to burn into my very soul as he leant over me. But _when_ will we be able to relive our night of passion? Will Pattie be leaving anytime soon, or will we have to resort to secretly creeping from room to room to fulfil our desires? Or will George have changed his mind _again_? As he boards the bus, John notices me silently reminiscing and he's quickly sat himself beside me with a knowing grin plastered across his face.

"So, did you two lovebirds have fun last night?" he winks dramatically, and I nudge him to shut up before he attracts _too_ much unwanted attention. I notice Paul looking pryingly over his shoulder at us, and I wonder if John has _already_ let slip about what's been going on between me and George.

"I don't know what you mean." I reply innocently, and John raises his eyebrows, "We just spent the night talking and cuddling."

"Bullshit," he cackles, "I _heard_ you two going at it like rabbits!"

"You heard us?" I gasp, mortified that the whole hotel might know what we got up to.

"It was pretty hard not to hear," John smiles teasingly, "Pattie found _that_ out the hard way."

"Pattie?" I practically screech with terror and clasp my hands over my mouth, "So it _was_ Pattie outside the door? I _knew_ it!"

"She wasn't too pleased about it," John replies frankly (I wish he wouldn't be so _honest_!), "but she'll get over it. It's not like she hasn't gone behind George's back before!"

"What?" I ask intrigued (so Pattie's been cheating already?), but the director is soon breaking up our conversation, and I spot George climb aboard the bus…without his wife! This is too good to be true! He's in costume again, but this time looks less severe behind the oversized shades, and a smile broadens across his glowing face as he spots me talking with John.

"What are you two chattering about?" he asks warmly, and bends down to kiss me on the cheek. He just kissed me on the cheek in front of everyone! This is our first sign of affection in public and my face burns up self-consciously as I feel Paul's wary eyes on me; he didn't want any holiday romance on the bus…and here George is kissing me just _metres_ away.

"Oh, nothing really." I lie, still wondering whether Pattie _has_ been with another man during her marriage, "We were just passing the time, weren't we John?"

"Yup." John turns to his band mate sweetly, "Georgie boy, can I sit next to Ruby today? I still love you…but I'm fed up of talking to a walking moustache 24/7."

"Well, I'll sit with Cathy then!" George replies smiling, but I notice his fingers shoot up to his moustache self-consciously.

"Don't mind him; I _love_ your moustache, George." I coo sweetly as the quiet Beatle sits beside me.

"Thanks." His hand is resting upon mine, and a warm sensation of happiness glows in my chest.

With John out of the way, this gives me the perfect opportunity to find the hidden answers to my string of questions. Like whether or not Pattie has left the tour? As the coach jerks into action, George turns to face me, and his expression is clouded with a hint of what appears to be misery. What happened last night after I left him? I'd hate to think.

"Eric rang me earlier," George sighs as though reading my mind, "Pattie went straight round to his house to complain and cry about it all. Apparently she's really upset."

"Eric Clapton?" I ask curiously (why would she go running to _Eric_?).

"Yeah, he's an old friend of mine," George frowns to himself, and his hidden suspicions begin to surface, "although he's been getting _awfully_ friendly with Pattie lately…"

"What do you mean?" I strain to feign a concerned tone, but inside I'm brimming with selfish happiness at the very idea of Pattie's hinted affair.

"Well, sometimes Eric comes round to the house _just_ to see her," he continues quietly, "and he's always offering to escort her places when I'm busy in the studio. There have been _loads_ of times when I've come home to find them sat together in the bedroom…or they quickly move away from each other when I walk through the door."

"So you think that they're…?" I ask naively, and supportively kiss his hand (how could you honestly cheat on lovely George?).

"It certainly looks that way," he kisses my lips appreciatively, "but maybe I'm just imaging things…they _could_ be just good friends after all."

We sit together talking in low voices for the rest of the hour with our hands clasped together so tightly I feel my palm fingers tingle numbly; I never want to let go. The coach driver pulls into the car park of a roadside café, and the director begins to herd us off the bus for lunch. I make to stand up, but feel myself being pressed back down into my seat and find Paul's firm hand upon my shoulder. I exchange a panicked glance with George. What does _he_ want?

"Could I just have a quick word?" the bassist's hand squeezes my shoulder softly, and I see George's face fall drip white with dread, "We'll catch up with you in the cafe, Georgie."

The guitarist nods nervously, and I can't help but notice the way he continually glances over his shoulder as he reluctantly leaves the vehicle. _Great_, Pattie's finally out of the way…but now I've got to deal with _Paul_. The bassist sits himself in George's seat, and I quietly pray that he'll just leave us alone. We only want to be _happy_ for crying out loud!

"Things are going well between you and George?" he asks casually, chewing on something that smells like peppermint chewing gum.

"Erm…I…we…" _Oh God_! What do I say! The last thing I need is Paul stepping in and splitting up my relationship with Georgie.

"Don't panic!" Paul smiles warmly, and his hand is upon my arm, "I'm not here to give you a bollocking."

"Really?" I squeak (much to my embarrassment).

"Really," he pulls his trademark hamster smile, "I'm not _angry_ at you two. No…actually I came to congratulate you."

"_Congratulate_ me?" What is he talking about?

"Yeah," he's chewing animatedly, "for cheering Georgie up. To tell you the truth Cathy…he's been kinda down lately. He just hasn't been himself, and we've being trying to get to the root of his unhappiness for a while now. I guess he's told you about his problems with Pattie?"

"Yes." I nod quietly.

"I think he just needs someone who he can _truly_ love," Paul continues in a hushed voice and smiles, "things haven't been working out in his marriage and it's running him into the ground. So I just want to thank you…for making him happy again."

_**As I enter the small café with Paul, George is already waving me over and trying to avoid eye contact with his bassist…**_

I sit beside George at the small breakfast table, and watch the guitarist anxiously chewing on his toast and jam; he's reading a newspaper, but his fingers are trembling so much that he can hardly focus on the print. His dark eyes discretely shoot up to Paul who has seated himself with John and Ruby; his hand instinctively reaches out and protectively grasps onto mine as though to claim me. Bless him! I can't wait to break the good news to him! _Finally_, we can act out our romance free from fear or repression.

"Paul said…" I begin excited and breathless, but George presses his lips to mine; hmmmm his lips taste like strawberry jam!

"Don't listen to him Cathy," his voice is firm and sincere as we pull away from the kiss, "he doesn't _control_ me. If he said anything about us ending this…_anything_, just ignore it."

"No, you've got it all wrong!" I smile affectionately, and his stern expression morphs into a perplexed frown, "Paul _doesn't_ want to split us up. He actually wanted to tell me that if we want to continue our relationship for the remainder of the tour…he's willing to support our decision."

"_Paul_ said that?" George asks wide eyed, and he glances back over to Paul who is chattering away to John.

"Yes!" I burst out into joyful laughter (I don't care what people think of me right now…I'm to ecstatic!), "We can be _happy_ again, Georgie!"

_**I spend the rest of the day, basking in George's bountiful love and free from the concern that Paul is going to step in at any moment to break things up. We can walk hand in hand without constantly scanning for watchful eyes, and kiss sweetly under the summer sun without the pang of guilt. That night we share a hotel bed together once more, and I lay awake, quietly watching him drift off to sleep. I've not been this happy in a long time…**_


	14. Chapter 14

**Cathy's P.O.V**

Two days. That's all we have left together. I feel a lump in my throat as I realise how time is slipping away between my fingers and my time with George is growing more precious with every passing second. I'm sat waiting apprehensively for him in the hotel lobby; he's been called out to film an extra scene with just the band, and I'm struggling to cope being apart from him with so little time left. Ruby sits with me for the company, chain smoking and sipping elegantly at a glass of wine; she's probably waiting for John to return. We've made up since he kissed me, and she has decided to blame Pattie for what happened. I'm not complaining!

"Well, if _she_ hadn't turned up it would never have happened." Ruby had hissed coldly when discussing the subject of relationships.

Now, as I spot George walking towards me all the stress and anxiety is replaced with laughter, and his defined cheeks burn up with trademark awkwardness. He's dressed in a red costume, with long sleeves that hang well past his hands, and a pointed wizard hat sits sweetly on his head. He's so _cute_! I wolf whistle him, and this only seems to make him _gawkier_ as he stumbles forward to greet me. He's followed by John who is wearing a black wizard outfit, that fits his body and a smug smile creeps across his face; he _knows_ his costume is cooler than George's. Ruby leaps up from her seat and practically throws herself into John's arm; they kiss manically (like they've been apart forever!), and I'm pretty sure that John wants to take things to the bedroom as he eagerly drags her out of the lobby. With the passionate couple out of the way, Georgie shuffles closer to me, and cocks his head with a nervous smile as I struggle to contain the giggles.

"I'm a wizard." He explains self-consciously as he notices me sniggering and envelopes me in a hug.

"I can tell." I smile foolishly, burying my face into his wizard robes and inhaling his familiar musky scent, "What on earth were you even filming?"

"I'm not too sure." George shrugs, "But Paul was certain it would all make sense in the end…"

"Well, I think you look really sweet!" I kiss his cheek. George inclines his face towards mine, until out noses are touching and plants a shower of kisses on my lips.

"Oh, I have something for you." He suddenly remembers and prods my nose affectionately, "Something _very_ special."

"Oh, you do?" I raise an eyebrow alluringly.

"Yes," he smiles, "but you'll have to wait until I'm out of costume to get it."

We walk to his hotel room holding hands, and I make myself comfortable on the bed as he pulls the red robes over his head. I watch him with hungry eyes as he struts around the room in nothing but his underwear. He's looking especially breath taking today! The Beatle approaches the bed and leans over me, and I'm already reaching up to ravenously kiss his parted lips. He returns the kiss, but as I begin to let my fingers slide down his lean torso he pulls away and shakes a lean finger at me like he's telling off a naughty child. I look up at him with growing bemusement and hoping he hasn't grown bored of me _already_, but he's grinning from ear to ear. If not another session of love making…_what_ has he got in store for me?

"Nope!" he smiles teasingly, his hair still messy from taking his robes off, "_that's_ not the special surprise!"

"Awww _really_?" I pout with mock disappointment, and he picks up an acoustic guitar laid beside me on the bed, "Then what is it?"

"I wrote this song…for you." He begins to strum softly on the guitar and my heart wells as the silky music fills my ears. The opening chords make my heart melt, and I feel tears blur my vision as he quietly begins singing.

_**Though you sit in another chair, I can feel you here  
Looking like I don't care, but I do, I do  
Hiding it all behind anything I see  
Should someone be looking at me**_

While I occupy my mind, I can feel you here  
Love to us is so well timed, and I do, I do  
Wasting away these moments so heavenly  
Should someone be looking at me

Let it down, let it all down  
Let your hair hang all around me  
Let it down, let it down  
Let your love flow and astound me

While you look so sweetly and divine, I can feel you here  
I see your eyes are busy kissing mine, and I do, I do  
Wondering what it is they're expecting to see  
Should someone be looking at me

Let it down, let it all down  
Let your hair hang all around me  
Let it down, let it down  
Let your love flow and astound me

As the song draws to a delicate end, I feel choked up with emotion and hot tears roll down my blushing cheeks. That was possibly one of the most beautiful and emotive songs I have ever heard; he poured his whole heart out…_for me_. I can't believe I'm a _muse_ to a love song! George sleepily looks up from his acoustic guitar, as though coming out of a trance like state, and notices the stream of tears that ruddy my face. He softly places the guitar on the floor, and reaches over to catch me in a comforting hug before I just about collapse in a weeping crumple on the bed. He kisses my neck gently and soothingly runs his quivering fingers through my hair.

"Did you like it?" he whispers softly in my ear.

"It was beautiful!" I reply into his bared chest, unable to fully cope with the onslaught of emotion that hit me like a tidal wave.

"I hope so," George pulls back from the hug (still supporting my trembling form in his strong arms) and smiles, "after all, it was written for a _very_ beautiful lady."

"Thank you, George!" I'm overcome with happiness and kiss him passionately on his grinning lips, "Thank you _so_ much!"

**A/N Sooooooo I was listening to my favourite George Harrison song 'Let It Down' and thought it kinda fit the relationship between George and Cathy :3**


	15. Chapter 15

**Cathy's P.O.V**

It's our last day filming, and I'm spending it with George at the beach. Before the tour I'd never really been to the seaside, so George was determined that we should make the most of the beautiful Cornwall coast that on our doorstep. The sensation of the warming rays of golden sunlight that caress my skin, fills me with childish glee, a feeling I've felt cheated of in early life. _My_ childhood had been spent in the terrace house or in the street aimlessly wheeling a toy pram around; nothing special, our family had never really been in a position to stay the weekend in pretty coastal villages. But now, my childhood fantasy of visiting the sea has come true...and I'm here with the man of my dreams. My quiet state of meditation is interrupted only by the amorous cries of George as he splutters in the ocean like a child. His lean body is framed perfectly by the sun, his glowing complexion glimmering under a layer of glistening sea water.

"Coming for a swim?" George smiles as he wades waist-deep through the ocean, "the water's warm! Not like Scarborough."

"But I've only just dried off!" I cry back, and wrap my arms around my sandy legs, "I'm enjoying the sun!"

"It's sunny here too!" George grins mischievously, and he's already closing in on me, "C'mon, Cathy!"

"No!" I shriek playfully and start to hoist myself up from the sand to escape, only to feel George's wet arms find their way around me, "Let me go, George!"

"Time for a swim I think." George chuckles to himself as he raises me up to face him, pressing my body up to his, "C'mon, you know you'll love it when you've taken the plunge. Remember that night you let yourself go for me…"

I blush furiously under the heat of the sun (I've never known such sunny weather in Britain!), and the sensation of George's bare chest against me sends my heart gasping excitedly. I unconsciously trace my warm finger tips yearningly along his slender sides, and the Beatle returns this impulsive action by forcing his wet lips upon mine. I can smell the natural salt in his hair, as he grows breathless and passionate. The sun continues to bear down, and I can feel beads of sweat form on my trembling skin. As he pulls himself away, George flashes his trademark toothy grin; his whole face is lightened up by the sunshine of his unique smile. _He's perfect_.

"So," George's eyes are narrow from the blinding sunlight, "how about that swim?"

"Have you got your sun lotion on?" My voice suddenly fills with concern, as I notice the rosy tint spreading on George's gleaming shoulders, "You shouldn't go into the sea without it you know. You'll burn easily, Georgie."

"Sorry _mother_, I forgot." George bites the corner of his bottom lip impishly and kisses my cheek, "Perhaps you should apply it? I'll only put it on all patchy…"

"Erm, sure," I reply awkwardly, and reach for the tube sat upon his beach towel (I still can't quite get used to being able to freely touch the Beatle's slender body), "if you really trust me to make a better job of it."

"Of course!" George's kinked smile grows as he stretches himself out on the warm sand, rolling onto his flat stomach, "Just don't go drawing smiley faces on my back or anything; if I get burnt I'm holding you personally responsible."

"I hear you!" I giggle, and timidly sit astride his slender hips.

My palms feel on fire as they come into contact with his heated skin. He flinches slightly between my thighs as the cold lotion is caked onto his back, and I break into another fit of school girl giggling. Composing myself, I begin to gently run my hands along the slight rope of his spine and his broad shoulder blades, and George begins singing to himself absent-mindedly. My hands come to rest upon the groove of the small of his back, as I grow more and more intrigued by the quiet song.

"You've finished already?" George glances over his shoulder with a look of mock devastation pasted across his face, "That was lovely."

"What was that song you were just singing?" I ask and continue to stroke his shoulder blades.

"Why?" George asks sleepily, his head sinking back into his arms with a pleased sigh.

"It's really pretty," I smile to myself, "is it your song?"

"It's a song I started with Eric…," he replies, but I can tell the subject of Eric Clapton is an uncomfortable one right now.

"Have you thought of a name yet?" I jump in before things get awkward, "For the song?"

"Erm…Here Comes the Sun," George answers distantly, as my hands slide lower down his back, coming to a stop just at the waistband of his swimming trunks, "erm, Cathy? You know you can go a bit lower…if that's ok with you…"

"Cheeky!" I laugh and lovingly kiss the damp nape of his neck, "I doubt you'll get a burnt bum under these trunks! They're pretty skin tight!"

"You never know." George smirks and turns over to lie on his back, "You wouldn't want me to get burnt would you?"

"No." I answer shyly, but I'm not really paying attention to the conversation passing between us. I'm too preoccupied by the fact that I'm now sat straddling George's firm stomach. I'm aware of the fellow beach-goers looking on suspiciously, and probably confusing an innocent chat in the sun for something seedier. The Beatle seems to be oblivious to all this, and lethargically folds his arms behind his head with pure contentment; _Damn_, he's sexy! My palms caress his chest lovingly, feeling the ripples of his ribcage beneath the sandy skin, and I have to fight back the feverish temptation to let my fingertips wander and explore…_especially in public_!

"Wow! What's going on here?" John's excited voice draws nearer, and looking over my shoulder I spot him jogging towards us in his swimming trunks. Ruby is running gracefully alongside him, clasping onto his hand like her very life depended on it. I'm _so_ glad to see them back together.

"We were just having a little chat, weren't we Georgie?" I stroke the Beatle's cheek gently, and he kisses the sandy palm of my hand.

"Oh yeah, pull the other one!" John laughs sarcastically, "Well, if you two have quite finished doing the dirty deed…we were wondering if you fancy coming for a swim?"

"I tried to convince Cathy to go in the sea earlier," George prods my tummy teasingly, "but she wouldn't listen!"

"Why, are you scared or something?" John sneers at me, and George gives me big pleading puppy eyes, "C'mon Cathy! Don't be a spoil sport. Anyways, it looks like you and George could do with a cold shower…a dip in the sea is close enough."

"Well, Ok." I agree hesitantly, and let George take me by the hand as we stand up together.

"We'll race you to the shore!" John grins eagerly, holding Ruby's hand tight and bracing himself for the mad sprint, "On your marks…Get set…"

"Hey that's cheating!" George cries out, as John sets off running with Ruby.

"Kiss my arse!" John shouts over his shoulder, and I'm hit dead in the face with a gust of sea breeze as George breaks into a dash for the sea, pulling me along like a rag doll. He's so fast!

When we reach the water, I let out a squeal as the icy water rushes around my ankles and George paddles over to me with open arms. He picks me up in a single sweeping motion and cradles me like a child; I scream friskily and clutch onto his neck as he jestingly dangles me precariously over the water. As I kiss his arm, I taste the sea salt that coats his skin and he's kissing my neck fervently. John and Ruby are playfully splashing around in the gentle waves with little Nicola, and George is carrying me further out to sea; _Shit_ he's gonna drop me! I cling onto his neck tighter now, and feel my stomach flip at the very notion of sinking into the icy depths of the ocean below. The sound of John and Ruby's laughter grows more distant, and I'm nervous about just _how_ far away from the shore the Beatle is taking me.

"Ready?" He asks cheekily, a mischievous giggle escaping his lips.

"_No_!" but he's already let go, and my body is frozen with shock as I'm plunged under the surface and into the icy waters below. When I finally regain feeling in my tingling arms and legs, I swim back up to find George half swimming and half standing beside me. He laughs warmly as I splutter gracelessly, and pulls me towards him; I feel so feather light beneath the water. I'm floating on his raised knee, and his arms are holding me close to him; I can hear his steady breathing in my ear, synchronising with the waves that rock our entwined bodies. John and Ruby are paddling in the shallow waters, and out here in the sea it's just me, Georgie and the seagulls that glide gracefully over our heads. I feel like we're the only people in the world. This is beautiful!

"See, it wasn't _that_ bad!" George smirks, breaking the silence.

"Whatever." I stick my tongue out, but he only uses this as an opportunity to kiss me with his open mouth. I melt into the warmth of his breath as it fills my mouth, and my whole body burns up with an uncontrollable fiery longing. Just wait until we get back to that hotel room Mr Harrison, you'll be sore for a month!

**A/N – Yay it's summer! This chapter was inspired by the song 'The Sea' by Morcheeba **


	16. Chapter 16

**George's P.O.V**

_I can't believe how fast these past two weeks have passed me by! It seems like only yesterday I first spoke with Cathy after noticing her crying alone on the tour bus, and it's heart breaking to think this time tomorrow I'll be back home; all this will just be a memory…something for me to feel nostalgic about when I'm old and my eyes are dim. _

Tonight I'm fuelled with a sense of urgency as I relish the feeling of Cathy's arms encircling my bare body and the quick pants that burst forth from her tremulous lips. She makes love to me in such an astonishing manner that I can't imagine _ever_ bedding anyone else! It's like she understands me…understands the way my body reacts to her seductive touch and knows how to send me wild. Not even Pattie can make me feel so _alive_! As I relish the hot waves of pleasure building up from the base of my spine, I'm overwhelmed with a confliction of pure bliss and wretchedness; this is probably the last time I'll _ever_ lose myself to this incredible sensation that shakes my very being, and I want it to last for an eternity! But it's _too_ late, and as my whole body is suddenly absorbed by the burning flush that spreads from the bottom of my stomach, I fall back into the cold pillow with a shuddering moan of exhaustion. Cathy's breathing is still sharp, but her racing pulse is slackening, and she buries herself in my naked side; I wrap my arm around her shoulder and squeeze her close to me.

"How was it?" I ask flirtatiously between shaky breaths, attempting to woo her with the clumsy raise of my eyebrow and she blushes coyly.

"Amazing," she answers bashfully, and tries to conceal her titters, "who'd have known you were a screamer, Georgie?"

"I'm not _that_ loud!" I cry out with burning embarrassment, and she's laughing out loud now.

"Well, y'know what they say," she yawns before falling into a drowsy silence, "it's the quiet ones you've got to watch out for…"

I _want_ to follow her into a peaceful doze, but I'm too wired from our last night of romance, and find myself leaving the warmth of our bed to _try_ composing my hectic thoughts soon after she has nodded off. I stand gazing out of my hotel window, watching the white reflections of the moon dance across the ocean waves and listening to the even breathing of Cathy curled up on the rumpled bed. She is so _enchanting_, her nude figure faintly lit beneath the moon, the pale blue light hugging her womanly curves; she wouldn't look out of place in an art gallery! Inhaling deeply, trying to stop the tears threatening to roll down my cheeks, I leave the window and quietly sit beside her again; I hope I don't wake her, she looks so peaceful. Just looking at her content face, I can't imagine it ever growing ruddy with sadness or streaked with teardrops. I reach out and delicately stroke the tangle of brunette hair that spreads across the pillow. She smiles serenely in her dreams and my fingers stray to her hot cheek where I let them linger. _I don't want to leave her. _The phone on the bedside table shrilly rings out, piercing the peaceful stillness of the night, and I rush to answer it before Cathy stirs from her slumber.

"Hello?" I answer in a hushed voice, praying I'm not disturbing the sleeping girl.

"_George_!" my wife cries out on the other end of the phone, "I'm so glad you've answered!"

"What do _you_ want?" I hiss bitterly, and I can practically _feel_ her cringe on the other end of the phone.

"Look, darling," she coos down the phone, "I thought about what happened…with Cathy…and I forgive you."

"Thanks." I mumble unfeelingly (I don't _want_ her forgiveness).

"So my parents have invited you round to their house tomorrow afternoon, for a garden party," Pattie tries to ignore the resentment in my voice, "daddy is _dying_ to see you again, Georgie! He thinks very highly of you."

"Great." I _hate_ it when she uses the 'daddy card' against me. Looks like I've got no choice but to turn up…not that I'll be in the mood for sipping wine in an English garden after parting with Cathy.

"See you tomorrow then," she replies cheerfully, and my fingers twitch with annoyance, "I love you."

"Bye." I put the phone down with conflicting emotions, and turn to see Cathy watching me wide eyed from the bed. She's huddled up on her side, with her legs drawn up into her chest and I'm filled with an overwhelming sense of duty to protect her. I sit back on the bed and stroke her bare leg soothingly.

"Who was that?" she asks sleepily, rubbing her tired eyes with a tiny fist and my heart sinks as I prepare to deliver the bad news.

"Pattie." I answer quietly.

"Oh." Her voice falters slightly, "And what did she say?"

"Her parents have arranged a welcome home party for me," I sigh and collect her delicate hand in mine, "but I really don't feel like it."

"Maybe it'll take your mind off having to say goodbye tomorrow." I expect to hear some bitterness in her voice, but her tones are truthful and gentle. I _yearn_ for her to be more aggressive…more _jealous_ so I have an excuse to run away with her; but she's passive and lets the news of my marriage possibly recovering wash over her without causing ripples of violent emotion. Perhaps this really _was_ a holiday romance…but I _want_ it to be so much more!

"I don't think I want to say goodbye." I reply plainly, hoping she'll realise I'm implying we elope and leap up to pack her things.

"It's going to be difficult." she murmurs, and I can hear the sadness beginning to creep into her voice, "But some things are special because they _don't_ last."

_**And with those bittersweet words echoing in my ears, I recline beside her on the bed and let my tired body sink into the hot mattress. She rolls instinctively into my arms and we're soon carried away into a fitful sleep, dreading the fast approaching sunrise that will cruelly tear us apart.**_

I wake up in a despairing state of mind, as though conscious of my final minutes with Cathy fading away even in my dreams. It's 4am, and in six hours' time I'll be driving away in my Mini from the tour bus…from _her_. I anxiously run my hands through my messy hair, sighing with growing gloom and stare up at the shadows cast by the rising sun that dance stretch across the ceiling; what reasons will I have to wake up bright and early without her? Cathy is cuddled up into my side, and her breath is swift and hot against my skin; the calming sensation has become so familiar lately, how will I fall asleep without it? We lay together, breathing in unison and quivering as though one tremulous heartbeat pulses through us simultaneously. I know for a fact I'll be returning from the tour to a bustling family and nattering wife…but I don't think I'll be able to stand it.

"I love you." I murmur sincerely into Cathy's hair, and she instinctively shuffles closer to me in her sleep.

My heart is ready to break. It's that moment when my weary eyes fall upon the camera rested on the bedside table and I'm absorbed with the object. The camera is bursting full of memories and remembrances of my amazing time spent with Cathy; I will forever hold this object close to my broken heart as a reminder of the girl who thrust me out of the darkness of a failing marriage. An idea suddenly springs to the forefront of my mind…I should share these precious remembrances with her. I silently sneak out of the bed, and caringly pull the bed clothes up to Cathy's delicate chin to keep her comfortable until my return. After throwing on whatever clothes are at hand, I pick up the camera and cradling it close to my chest like a priceless treasure, make to leave the room.

"I'll be back, Cathy." I promise her, kissing her velvet lips before exiting the hotel room and leaving her lost in the mists of her sweet dreams.

**Cathy's P.O.V**

I wake up to find the bed unusually chilly, and my lips tingle as though they have been kissed whilst I was sleeping. My warm fingers blearily reach out to touch the pillowed place where I expect to find his dark mess of hair become entangled around my hand; the pillow is cold. Panicking, I sit bolt upright and my blurry eyes frantically search for his presence; surely…he can't have left so _early_? The blood has rushed straight to my head from the icy shock and sitting up too fast. I'm already feebly sinking back into my warm pillow; there's a queasiness congealing in the bottom of my stomach, and dizzily clamp my bloodshot eyes shut in a meagre attempt to stop the room spinning.

_**Some things are special because they don't last.**_

I struggle to believe those words escaped _my_ lips. As I lay nursing a throbbing headache, my hazy mind wanders to the conversation I shared with George after Pattie phoned last night, and a part of me is _furious_ that I didn't agree to run away with him. But I didn't deny him because I'm _not_ in love with him…no, I turned his suggestion down _out of love_! I didn't want to be responsible for the media hounding him and the fans raging over his sudden abandonment of his wife. I don't want to ruin our perfect relationship outside of the tour…truthfully, I'm _petrified_ of being with him in the _real world_. Perhaps that's why he's left…perhaps he's gone back home to Pattie to patch things over. But without even saying _goodbye_?

"Don't be _stupid_, Cathy!" I grumble drowsily to myself, "Of course he wouldn't bugger off like that!"


	17. Chapter 17

**Cathy's P.O.V**

Well, this is the last time I'll ever see the huge blue coach with its psychedelic patterns and equally psychedelic crew. Looking the huge vehicle up and down with awe, my heart is struck with the first stab of sadness and I feel like I've almost formed a strange bond with the coach; it holds a flood of unique memories (both good and bad) that I'm _certain_ I will remain with me up until my final days. The extras, cameramen and director have all flocked the car park from the hotel, and we mob the tour bus as we have our photos taken with the beloved coach one last time. Little Nicola is tearfully hanging on to Ringo's trouser leg and lets out a string of pained cries as her mother attempts to coax the child to their car. I skittishly scan the noisy crowd of people for George…but he's _still_ nowhere to be seen! The worst part of all this is I will have to stay _another_ night at the hotel on my own; my brother promised to collect me in his new car, but he's working today so I'm stranded here until tomorrow morning. So yeah, I'll have to stand here and watch everyone leave…I'll have to watch _George_ fade into the distance…

"It's been a pleasure working with you all," the director addresses the whole crew and is answered by a zealous round of applause, "and I hope you all enjoyed yourselves as much as the band and myself did!"

Paul is wading through the excitable gathering, and wishing us all safe journey home individually; by the time he reaches me on the outer circle of the crowd, he's all hot and flustered from forcing his way through the sea of bodies.

"So, we've come to the end." He smiles awkwardly at me, and I can tell he doesn't cope well with emotional situations, "There's no point me really asking if you enjoyed yourself since you pulled Georgie boy…but you did have fun, right?"

"I loved _every second_ of filming!" I lie; I'm trying my hardest to _forget_ the time spent avoiding Pattie.

"I'm glad to hear it." Paul's face radiates affection, and he shakes my hand firmly in a professional manner, "Well, maybe I'll see you around if you and Georgie stay an item?"

"I wouldn't hope for too much," my voice is tinged with pained realism, "it was probably just a two week fling…"

"I wouldn't give up on your relationship _that_ easily."

"_God_, I'll miss you all so much!" My lip trembles as I change the subject matter, and I break the barrier of business Paul has created by hugging him tightly to me. At first he stiffens up beneath my touch, but then relaxes and his arms are encircled around me. This is my first hug with Paul, the only Beatle I haven't thrown my arms around at some point during the tour, and I notice how _cuddly_ he is; he's slightly chubbier than the other three, and this just makes the hug even sweeter! He withdraws from the friendly embrace, and playfully pretends to punch my chin in a childlike manner.

"I'll miss you too, Cathy," he replies warmly as he turns to leave (Linda has arrived in their car to collect him), "I'm _sure_ we'll meet again though…trust me. Bye!"

Just as I'm trying to hold it together as Paul climb into Linda's car, Ringo spots me stood sniffling alone and is shuffling towards me… _Jesus_! This is all too much! He catches me in a friendly hug, and I'm biting my bottom lip until it's at bleeding point to keep the tears at bay. I _refuse_ to get all puffy eyed and sniffly before George arrives!

"Goodbye, Mrs George!" he beams kindly, but the words seem to wrench my aching heart out of my chest; I wish people would stop making this so _hard_!

"Bye Rings," I smile shakily, "and thanks for cheering me up when I felt down."

"No problem." Ringo winks as he strolls over to meet Maureen stood waiting by the bus.

I'm soon aware of Ruby standing beside me with her slender hands resting on her hips and John has his arm casually slung around her delicate shoulders. They're such a _gorgeous_ couple! It's a pity that they have to part so soon! I weakly smile at them both, my mouth trembling with suppressed sobs and misery; I think John has sensed my sorrow…he's not made a single joke or sarcastic comment at my expense all morning!

"Do you want a lift home with me?" Ruby asks kindly, rubbing my shoulder tenderly as though feeling my concealed pain (I've already spent most of the morning whining at her about having to stay an extra night without my Georgie boy), "My sister is coming to collect me, I only live half an hour away from your town…and it's on our way back anyway."

"Thank you," I smile gratefully and hug her, "that's great!"

"Awwww, can't you take _me_ with you?" John puckers his lips melodramatically at the model, and she plants a firm kiss on his pursed mouth.

"Have you seen George today?" I ask John as he tears his lips away, trying to subdue the nerves that cause my voice to quiver.

"No," the Beatle frowns to himself, still holding Ruby close, "come to think of it, I haven't seen him all morning."

"Oh." I don't know _what_ to say, but I _do_ know I'm on the verge of having a minor panic attack! I'm leaving in a matter of minutes and at this rate I won't even get a chance to bid George farewell. John leans in to kiss Ruby passionately on the lips _again_, and struggles to finally let her go when it's finally time for him to leave too. My heart is breaking just watching Ruby and John part…God knows how I'll cope when George turns up…_if _he turns up.

"I'll miss you," his whispers genuinely, and kisses her hard one last time before finally yanking himself away from the beautiful girl, "I love you Ruby."

"Love you too!" she smiles with bittersweet happiness (how the hell is she holding it together like this? I'd be a blubbering like a moron by now!).

"Bye Cathy." he turns to me with a kind smile, and I can't help but throw my arms around him.

"Bye John," I murmur into his shoulder, "and thanks for _everything_! If it wasn't for you…I would have broken George's heart."

"You're welcome." he replies as the hug draws to an end, "Well, I guess this really _is_ goodbye…I better get going."

"Bye, Johnny Boy!" Ruby and I cry out in sync as the Beatle reluctantly leaves us to clamber into his painted Rolls Royce. As he drives past, his hand shoots out of the open window and continues to wave until he's completely out of sight. I turn to Ruby, who is stood very still, her large brown eyes fixed on the empty horizon as if praying the car will reappear with her John. I instinctively draw her into a comforting hug, and hot tears soak into my t-shirt; standing here without John must be killing her, and I'm starting to feel _really_ selfish for putting her through this heartache whilst I wait out for George.

"Let's go home, huh?" I smile supportively at the weeping model, but inside I'm screaming at myself for giving up on George so easily, "I think we _both_ need to get away from here before we cry ourselves to death!"

"B…but what about _George_?" she sobs, her teary eyes filled with concern, "You…you just _can't_ leave without saying goodbye to him!"

"It doesn't look like he's turning up," I reply, skilfully holding back my own tears, "and Paul told me he saw him driving away from the hotel earlier this morning…"

I walk Ruby to her sister's car, keeping one hand resting encouragingly on her shoulder in case she breaks down into _another_ fit of sobbing on the gravel floor; if she starts crying again I _know_ I'll burst into tears too! I keep looking over my shoulder, pleading George will turn up, but he's nowhere to be seen amongst the crowd of passengers. So is this it? After all we went through together…after he wrote a _song_ for me, and not even a goodbye? Part of me is numb with despair, but I'm also _fuming_ that he would treat me like this! I realise saying goodbye is painful…but I _need_ to see him one last time. I _need_ one more kiss!

"Cathy!"

My broken heart skips a beat.

"Cathy!" George shouts frantically, rushing over to me as I make to climb into the back of Ruby's car, "_Wait_!"

"_George_!" I gasp, and before I have time to react, I'm whisked off my feet in a zealous hug. His chest heaves against me, and it's evident that he must have sprinted across the car park to catch me before it was too late. The familiar sensation of his fingertips against my body leaves my moist eyes itching with tears, and I hide my face in the crook of his neck hoping that he won't see me in such a state.

"I didn't think you were going to turn up," I admit quietly into the hot skin of his throat, "I thought you'd already left for home."

"Without stealing a goodbye kiss?" George grins down at me, and presses his soft lips against mine, "I wouldn't have been able to _stand_ it!"

"Me neither." I agree in a quivering voice, humiliated by the tear drops rolling down my face.

"_Don't cry_!" George laughs awkwardly into my hair, but as we pull away from each other I see the tears glistening in his brown eyes.

"I know…I'm sorry, I must look a mess." I sniff embarrassedly, wiping my eyes on the back of a trembling hand. It's ironic really, I was crying when I met George and now I'm crying as we part.

His face falls sombre as he tenderly pulls me closer by my arm until out noses are brushing, and I can feel the welcome warmth of his breath upon my tear stained cheeks. Wordlessly, he gently tilts my chin up with his thumb and forefinger, and stands gazing intently into my watery eyes for a moment or two as though savouring the pre-kiss magic that hangs heavy in the air around us. Then his delicate lips close in on mine, and my arms wrap themselves around his slender waist as my heart begins to swell with love. And with that, George Harrison bestowed upon me the sweetest kiss I have _ever_ experienced…and I honestly doubt I'll _ever_ be kissed like that again.

"I have a goodbye present for you, beautiful Cathy." He produces from his pocket two small photographs and places them in my hands. On the back of one photo the message _'I love you. Thank you for making me happy again.' _is handwritten and signed by George with row after row of kisses feebly beneath his name.

"Goodbye Cathy." He murmurs wretchedly, and I feel his final kiss hot upon my mouth. I feebly close my teary eyes and try to imagine this kiss lasting a lifetime. "I love you."

"I love you too," I practically choke out as the tears clog my eyelashes, "Goodbye George."

With a final wave of his hand, one of the most important men in my life drives into the distance in his patterned Mini. My fingers tremble, and I'm reminded of the two photographs I hold in both hands. The first photo is of me and George (taken by John) sat side by side in the hotel lobby, pouring through the book I had 'stolen' from the Beatle on the very first day of filming (I never did finish it). The Beatle is shooting a cheesy grin at the camera, and I'm giggling shyly into his collar bone as we cuddle up together. I chuckle to myself before admiring the second photograph, in which we're stood on the cliff overlooking the sea (the same cliff on which I realised I didn't have feelings for John after all) and I'm caught up in George's arms. He's drawing me protectively into his chest like he'll never let me go, and his face is buried lovingly in my windswept hair. I'd give _anything_ to be able to relive those precious moments.

A strange lurching sensation suddenly rises in my chest and fills my throat. I rush behind a parked car with my quivering hands fastened over my mouth, and secretly throw up out of sight of the others. Am I _really_ so devastated about leaving George that it's making me physically _ill_? How am I gonna cope without him?

**A/N – So George and Cathy have said goodbye and go their separate ways. But will they ever see each other again? Dum Dum Duuuuuuum! Stay tuned to find out! : P**


	18. Chapter 18

**Cathy's P.O.V**

_**Three years later…**_

The two weeks spent with The Beatles is a distant memory by now, and some days I find myself sat on the bed struggling to remember every second I spent with George and every kiss I stole from his lips. After leaving the Beatle on that fateful day, I immediately entered into a relationship with a local boy, and after courting little longer than a year we were soon engaged to be married. I do love my husband…_of course_ I love him, but he'll never quite fill the empty space George has left in my heart. The love we share is a more rational and sensible love; my relationship with George was raw and even unpredictable at times. Although things have become quite tempestuous lately since he's taken to drinking. I don't discuss George with my husband; my love for the quiet Beatle happened in the past, and it seems that's where the relationship is destined to stay. I've matured now, and need a steady relationship to see me through life. Whilst watching the Magical Mystery Tour film with my husband, I find it _astounding_ that he hasn't already noticed the way in which my eyes often lock momentarily with George's; to me the signs of our fling are _glaringly_ obviously throughout the movie.

_Sometimes I sit and pray he will come back for me, but I can understand if it wasn't meant to be that way. Life goes on, the band has split and I'm tied to my responsibilities as a wife_.

But there will _always_ be a reminder of him with me…his son. I didn't find out I was pregnant until three weeks after returning home from filming, but never tried to contact George believing that I would only complicate things and wreck his marriage that has since mended itself. My husband (boyfriend at the time) was accepting that I was already pregnant when we began courting, but he _still_ has no idea who the child's _true_ father is. At the hospital after the birth of my baby, the only name that escaped my lips when asked to name the child was "George", and my husband heartily agreed that this would be a noble name for 'our' son.

"There have been a lot of baby Georges, Johns, Pauls and Ritchies lately!" the nurse had smiled cheerily as she handed me the child, but this had only struck my tender heart with a pang of unpleasant misery. Holding the new born baby in my arms, I was anxious that my secret would be revealed; the baby had George's thoughtful eyes and his little brow knitted in the same brooding expression as he cautiously examined his new surroundings.

Now, as I stand in the kitchen cleaning the dishes and watching my toddler recklessly tear through the house, all I can think of is how stunning George was that night I first gave myself to him. The rest of the house is utterly silent apart from the tinny radio…looks like it's just me and little Georgie again tonight. Since my husband was made redundant, he spends more time at the pub _wasting_ our family benefits, instead of spending quality time with his loyal wife and child. The radio drones on in the background, playing Eric Clapton's song _Layla_…I wonder if George was right about him and Pattie after all?

"Well, that was Eric Clapton's _Layla_," the radio presenter states as the song draws to an end, "and now, we've got a special guest in the station…the one and only Mr _George_ Harrison!"

My heart skips a beat, and a wet plate slips between my fingertips, smashing into tiny shards across the kitchen floor. _Georgie_? I quickly rush to collect little George in my trembling arms before he hurts himself on the shattered plate, and grab a broom to sweep away the mess. Resting the confused toddler on my hip, I listen attentively to the broadcast and my heart practically melts as I hear his gentle voice echo through the room. If I close my eyes, I can _almost_ picture him stood here in the kitchen beside me and imagine his warm hands resting upon my waist as he holds me like he did that day at the beach.

"Hullo!" I hear the toothy grin in his voice and laughing nervously, "and thanks for having me, Vince!"

"It's an absolute pleasure George," the presenter replies heartily, "So you've just released your first solo album _All Things Must Pass_, and you've come to play us an acoustic cover of one of the tracks from the album, right?"

"Erm, yes," George begins nervously (he always told me how much he _hated_ interviews), "well, this is a song I wrote a while back…and it's a song dedicated to a girl who meant a lot to me…_still_ means a lot to me."

"Oh really?" the disc jockey sounds intrigued, "and is she listening in especially for this?"

"Oh," George replies with audible embarrassment, and I fondly remember the way his cheeks used to blush, "I'm not sure…but if you _are_ out there listening, this one's for you."

"Aren't you gonna let us into your little secret?" the presenter teases playfully, "_who_ is the lucky lady?"

"I can't," George laughs awkwardly, "it's kind of private…but _she_ knows who she is, and I just hope she's ok…and that she knows she'll _always_ have a place in my heart."

"Well," the radio broadcaster introduces my lover, "here he is! The talented George Harrison! And this next song we're going to play is from his new album _All Things Must Pass_. D'you want to introduce the song, George?"

"This is called _Let It Down_." The tenderness in his voice makes my heart leap into a youthful stutter.

As the guitar melody flows seamlessly through the dingy room, I immediately recognise the song George had written for me on the Magical Mystery Tour. My pulse hammers in my head with a new glimmer of precious hope...a feeling I thought had abandoned me since getting married. He _remembers_ me. I recall buying _every_ Beatles album and single released after the Magical Mystery Tour, eagerly listening and hoping to hear the song he had dedicated to me…but with every album I listened to, I was disappointed to find my song wasn't included. After the band did split, I came to terms with the fact that George had probably forgotten the melody or that his relationship with Pattie was perfectly stable again. Little George yawns sleepily in my arms, as though his father's soft voice is a lullaby to his ears and he's absorbed by his dreams.

I feel my cheeks blushing as I recall all the lusty nights spent in George's bed, and hope my husband doesn't walk in on this surreal moment I'm sharing with the radio. My eyes growing misty with warm tears, I hold little George even closer to me, chewing my bottom lip as I wonder whether this means the Beatle is intending to resurrect our short relationship. He _does_ remember me…but that doesn't necessarily mean he'll come for me…_does it?_

**A/N - Ooooooooh George is missing Cathy, but is it too late for them to get back together?**


	19. Chapter 19

**Cathy's P.O.V**

"I said I'm coming!" I yell down the stairs, wrapping a tatty old dressing gown around me and sorting the rollers in my hair.

The knocking grows louder and more impatient as I reach the foot of the stairs, and for a split second I freeze in my tracks, clutching the banister for support; what if it's the bay lifters with an eviction notice? Come to think of it, when _was_ the last time my husband paid the rent? Little George is bawling his eyes out and stumbles clumsily down the stairs behind me with breathless sobs; well, I can hardly pretend no one's home now (Baby Georgie can scream the house down if he's upset!). Enveloping my son in protective arms, I draw a deep breath and suspiciously approach the locked door. I'll have to face them sooner or later.

"Who's there?" I strain to sound intimidating, but my voice wavers and reveals the crippling fear inside. Georgie's little fingers clutch at my dressing gown, as though channelling my fears and releases out a nervous gurgle.

"Me." The voice is unusually gentle and inviting…it _can't_ be the bay lifters after all. But _who's_ coming knocking at my door at this time in the morning? Curiously, I turn the stiff key, and grasping little Georgie ever so closer to my chest, I slowly push the door open.

There's a man stood on the doorstep…a man from my past. The pale morning sunlight frames his familiar form and stresses the high cheekbones of his dashing face. His hair has grown since I last saw him; it now flows well past his shoulder and shines sleekly in the glimmering light. But he's George…the same George I fell _hopelessly_ for three years ago. He stands awkwardly in the door way as though not sure what to say, and I impulsively place little Georgie on the floor and fling my arms around his neck not caring who sees; sobbing openly into his collarbone, I feel his hand gently massaging the back of my neck and he coos soothingly in my ear. Between sharp sniffs, my nose is flooded with the familiar musky smell of the quiet Beatle, and it feels like I've finally come _home_. I kiss his warm throat frantically like he's a passing dream, and thank God for _finally_ bringing him back to me after all this time.

"I've missed you." his murmurs tenderly, the heat from his breath causing the tiny hairs on the back of my neck to stand up.

"George…I thought I'd _never_ see you again…" I cry and he takes my flushed face in his comforting hands, "I can't believe you're back…after _three years_ of nothing…you're _here_."

"I'm sorry it's taken so long." He answers quietly, his voice tinged with remorse and he's kissing my lips like it was the first time we admitted our love for each other.

"But why?" I manage to gasp, "Why _now_?"

"I wanted to tell you something." He replies plainly and another sweet kiss is on my lips.

"And what's that?" I ask dreamily, melting into the long-awaited security of his arms.

"I'm leaving Pattie." I instantly pull away from the hug and examine his expression cautiously. Am I hearing things? He's actually _leaving_ Pattie? His dark eyes are so sombre and sincere…he _must_ be telling the truth.

"Erm, do you want to come in for a cup of tea?" I ask inaudibly, my voice a hoarse whisper with crying.

"Sure." He smiles kindly, and follows me down the narrow hallway. _God_, my house must look so tiny and inadequate in comparison with George's stunning Friar Park. And the place is a complete mess thanks to little George causing havoc whenever my back is turned! This is such an embarrassing way for him to see me! If I'd have known he was coming I'd have done _something_ nicer with my hair, or _at least_ get dressed! But he doesn't seem to mind, and soundlessly sits himself at the small kitchen table as though he's a regular visitor here. I put the kettle on to boil and reach for a cigarette: I must look like a stereotypical housewife, brewing a cuppa and smoking like a chimney. Little George totters clumsily into the kitchen searching for me in a state of blind panic, and is soon using George's slender legs to support his wobbly body. The toddler inquisitively stares up at the stranger with guarded black eyes, and it's unbelievable _how much_ he resembles his handsome father. George reaches down and picks up the overwhelmed child to bounce on his knee; I'm taken back to that youthful summer evening when we sat in the beer garden with little Nicola.

"I didn't know you had a son!" George grins from ear to ear at Little Georgie sat wide eyed in his lap, "He's a cute little fellow!"

"He's called George." I mumble to him shyly, and the Beatle's face beams with a proud lopsided grin.

"So I'm guessing you're married." George nods at the wedding ring on my finger, and I'm _dying_ to tear the damn thing from my finger, "Is your husband a decent guy? Dashing? He must be to win a girl like you."

"Pfft. I wouldn't exactly call him _dashing_." I reply cynically, "He's in the pub at the moment…drinking until he falls on his arse. He's a useless excuse for a man these days."

"Oh," George seems lost for words and his expression is clouded with genuine sympathy, "and he's the boy's father?"

"No." I reply frankly, pouring two cups of tea, "Thank god!"

"I see," George frowns to himself, mulling this over, "well I'm not here to judge…"

"He's yours." I suddenly blurt out the truth, tensing every muscle as I anticipate his reply; I expect him to aloofly rise from his chair and leave without another word. Even if he _does_ accept we had a child that probably won't stop him feeling cheated and exasperated that I didn't inform him sooner.

"What?" George's brow furrows with deep grooves of puzzlement, "What's mine?"

"The child." Our eyes lock for a protracted moment of understanding, and George instinctively holds the toddler closer to him. I expect Little Georgie to put up a struggle (he's always been a bit funny with men), but he inquisitively places his hands on the Beatle's face and tugging gently on his beard.

"He's gorgeous." George smiles quietly, and tenderly kisses the toddler on the forehead, rubbing his nose in the child's thick mop of dark hair. Little Georgie blearily forces a thumb into his little mouth and sucks absentmindedly as he settles into his father's comforting embrace. This is heaven. I _must_ be dreaming…this is all _too_ good to be true. "He'll be a little heart throb when he grows up!"

"You think so?" _God_, the tears are coming back!

"Of course! Especially with parents like us!" George chuckles sweetly and softly pinches the child's ears, "Though I should have guessed he was mine earlier…he has the Harrison ears and brow!"

Little George snuggles into his father's neck, as though already forming a lifelong bond with his secret father, and swiftly drifts off into a contented nap; the father and son breathe quietly in unison, and it's hard to believe they've only _just_ been introduced. The Beatle just sits there gazing at our son with pure wonderment, as though he is the most beautiful and precious soul on the earth.

"Well," I sip reservedly at my cup of tea, watching George cuddling our sleeping child, "what do you suppose we do now?"

I lean over him to place his cup of tea on the kitchen table, and the Beatle instantly reaches up from his seat to kiss and nibble seductively at my ear. He's even remembered my weakness! His loving touch seems to shake me out of this mundane reality I've grown accustomed to…and I've not felt this _alive_ in a long time. I feel twenty-three all over again! Little George murmurs serenely in his sleep and tears of happiness prick my eyes.

"Run away with me." George breathes sincerely in my ear, and the tears are freely rolling down my cheeks by this point.

"But…what about my life here…and my husband?" I chatter nervously, kicking myself for trying to reason with him (_Shut up_ Cathy! Remember how you felt _last_ time you turned him down!), "I've got a son now…and I _need_ to know he'll have a steady home and a family to fall back on."

"You said yourself that your husband neglects you," George patiently reminds me, "I will treat you a million times better than _he_ does. He doesn't understand you like _I_ do. He's taking advantage of you…it's such a waste of _your_ time being with him."

"B…but when? _When_ can I leave?" I ask fearfully, the young girl inside is screaming at me to take my chances and flee with George to a better future.

"Now." George replies plain and simply.

_I can't quite believe I'm doing this as I run upstairs to pack my things and throw on the first dress I find…I'm about to leave everything behind…but it's for the best. These past three years have been the unhappiest I've ever experienced, since I married that wretched excuse of a husband; so don't I deserve to be happy and respected by a man who will love me unconditionally? Little Georgie was never overly fond of my husband either, and I was always certain he knew the man wasn't his father; I've never seen the toddler as relaxed as when he's huddled up in George's paternal embrace; I need to escape here for his sake as well as my own. I hurriedly scribble my husband a quick note explaining that I have left him to fulfil the dreams he had denied me throughout our dysfunctional marriage, and it's as though the heavy shackles that kept me prisoner in this house have smashed into a million tiny pieces. As I make for the door with my arms trembling under the weight of the two bulging suitcases I've packed (George is carrying little Georgie on his shoulders), I'm hit with a wall of overwhelming nerves; but I'm not scared…no, I'm excited! _

**George's P.O.V**

"Now, Cathy, I want you to close your eyes until I say so, OK?" I instruct her as she locks the front door behind her,

"But why?" she giggles, but she obeys my voice and places her slender hands in front of her eyes to prove she's not peeking.

"You'll see." I walk her down the street, my arm linked in hers so she doesn't trip or wander out into the middle of the road (that wouldn't be ideal!) Little Georgie's hands are delicately resting on either side of my face as he sits upon my shoulders, and his little fingertips softly graze my cheek bones; who'd have known I'd have such a _beautiful_ son? I just wish I'd had known earlier about all this…about _her_ failing marriage and _our_ son; I would have left Pattie in a heartbeat. I've been envious of John, Paul and Ringo for some time now…I thought I'd never be able to have children, but now I have yet _another_ reason to be joyful again!

"_Surprise_!" I grin gawkily and anticipate her response (why am I so nervous all of a sudden?), "You can open your eyes now, darling."

She unveils her stunning brown eyes, and her pretty little mouth curls into an ecstatic grin. There in the middle of the street, the Magical Mystery Tour Bus is parked up and ready to carry us off into our future. She rushes over the huge vehicle, and presses her hands against it as though she's not quite certain if this is for real or her imagination. All the neighbours are flocking the street in their pyjamas and dressing gowns, nattering furiously and shaking their head at the huge tour bus parked up on the curb. I couldn't care less if they're pissed off…grumpy gits.

"Is…is this the _actual_ bus?" she cries out in disbelief, her eyes glowing with overpowering bliss and my amorous heartbeat is thundering in my ears.

"Yup," I strain to reply casually, but I feel like a stuttering teenage boy talking to his first crush, "I bought her after we finished the film…as a reminder of the enchanting girl I fell in love with. Pattie _hated_ it. She was _always_ complained that it was unsightly and took up too much room in the garage. I never listened to her though, and now I'm _glad_ I didn't! So, are you coming on board, my love?"

The three of us climb onto the huge bus, and I cockily plant myself in the driver's seat; closing the heavy automatic doors behind us, I effectively shut out the interfering world. Now we can _finally_ have some time to speak in private away from the neighbours, and without worrying whether Cathy's husband is going to disrupt this perfection in a fit of drunken fury. Not that I'd stand by and watch her receive a bollocking from her failure of a man…I'd knock his fucking lights out first. Cathy is sitting little George on the seat behind me, and wiping his runny nose with motherly tenderness. I turn in my driver's seat, and clutching onto her like there's no tomorrow, I caress her rose tinted cheeks with a string of enduring kisses; I've waited _so long_ to be able to kiss her whenever I feel like it.

"You're actually gonna drive this thing?" she asks with childish excitement as I manage to _finally_ reign in my desire.

"Well, Ringo managed it." I shrug casually, and ignite the rumbling engine.

"I guess you've got a point." She replies sweetly, and sits herself beside our babbling toddler who is peering inquisitively out of the vast windows. I feel a teary lump form in my throat as I proudly admire my girl and our curious son; this is my new family, and I feel complete.

"Well," I put on a pair of sunglasses to hide my tears and begin to steer the bus away from the cramped street, "next stop, Friar Park!"

**A/N – Well we've reached the end :D I'd just like to thank everyone for the wonderful reviews and I enjoyed reading all the feedback I received. Hope you all enjoyed my fanfiction!**


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